Screaming
by KIMMIKY
Summary: With Merlin, Gaius and most of the kingdoms healers struck down by a mysterious ailment, just what are the rest of the round table supposed to do to help? The only option available means asking for assistance from a source unlikely to WANT to get involved. Revelations and misunderstandings will abound as Arthur for once protects his protector.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N I know I know I haven't finished my other fics yet but I got stuck and have been doing bits of this so thought I'd post it so you at least had something to get your teeth into. This has now been beta'd by the lovely Doberler since my poor efforts to edit went rather badly. Blushes!**

 **I don't own Merlin even now when I have made up so many new adventures for him and his friends. Sigh!**

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Screaming.

Chapter 1.

This council meeting was unutterably boring!

Merlin had a feeling Arthur only dragged him into this room to stand behind his king to make him suffer, not because he might become ragingly thirsty halfway through. He almost never had to refill Arthur's goblet, and so could not see the point in making him stand there, going out of his mind with the sheer tediousness of it unless Arthur was just trying to be a prat.

He had long since given up the perfectly rigid posture of the ideal servant in favour of leaning back against the pillar behind him. No one ever looked at him anyway. They were far too busy arguing about the riveting subject of road maintenance or harvest yields to pay any attention to him.

He leaned back a little further, the warmth of the late summer sun making the room a little stifling and inducing a brief lassitude to the warlock. He could feel his eyes drifting shut, the drone of the councillors' voices adding to the lethargy. He smiled to himself, just a small one. There would be hell to pay if Arthur did look his way, but at this moment he would savour the break and allow himself to rest a little.

Of course, it was not Arthur he needed to be wary of at that time, but little did he know it, until the pain came.

It was swift, and sudden. A searing burning agony that cut through his skull. Magic screeching across his senses like a wailing banshee as he fell to his knees, hands to either side of his head, as he fought to stay conscious. Someone somewhere was screaming; it took him a long time to realise it was him!

The blessed darkness, when it came, was a relief from the searing agony, his last thought one of worry for what this could possibly mean.

...

His councillors could argue the sun was black if they thought they could get away with it and have it benefit them.

There was no doubt in Arthur's mind these people just could not get along. They would kill each other rather than work together for the common good. Honestly, why had he kept them on? Honour to his father's memory, perhaps? For that matter, his father had been a shrewd man and didn't suffer fools lightly. Why had _**he**_ kept them on?

He couldn't help his mind from drifting, nor his gaze. So when he noticed his servant start to droop in the heat of the afternoon sun out of the corner of his eye, he smirked to himself, imagining what he could do to him later as punishment.

And then Lord Huxbury asked him a question, a minor detail and easily answered, but that brought his attention away from his servant for just a few moments. Which is why his servant's collapse caught him severely unawares. The thump as he fell to his knees drowned out by the inhuman scream issuing from his throat as he clutched his head, leaning forward and almost touching the ground.

He was not the only one to have jumped a mile. Every man within the room had reacted to that sound. A torturous noise of animalistic pain. A noise that just as suddenly as it had started stopped as his servant went completely limp, quite obviously unconscious.

No one moved. They were all stunned into immobility; long minutes of immobility as they each tried to slow their pounding hearts and regain some semblance of calm until the door burst open, admitting not only the guards from the end of the corridor, but Sir Leon. The guards' pikes were at the ready, and Sir Leon's sword was waving threateningly until he noticed the only man down was Merlin. He reluctantly lowered his sword, and then sheathed it as he made his way over to the king.

"Sire, is everyone alright?"

"We're fine, Leon." Arthur knelt to examine his servant, turning him over to see crimson streaks dripping from his nose. He felt for a pulse. It was erratic and his already light skin had turned bloodless, making a gruesome contrast to the seeping nosebleed. "Call for Gaius. Something has obviously happened to Merlin."

"Let me guess: he just clutched his head, keeled over and started screaming, and then lost consciousness?" The breathless voice came from the open doorway, and the guards blocking the king's view moved, giving a perfect line of sight to his most disreputable knight.

"Gwaine?" Arthur looked up from the side of his fallen manservant in surprise at the knight, who was obviously dishevelled and panting. "How did you know?"

"He's not the only one. They've been dropping all over the citadel!"

"Not a random illness then? Some kind of attack?"

"Well as to that, there seems to be no rhyme or reason to who went down."

"We need Gaius a little more urgently than we anticipated. Hurry…"

"Sire," Gwaine's voice was grave, and the hairs on the back of Arthur's neck prickled with alarm. "Gaius was one of those affected. I was getting the salve for my shoulder when he went down. Thought he might have had a brainstorm or suchlike. It was as I was running here to inform you that we realised it was more wide spread than just the physician." Leon stepped around Gwaine.

"God!" Arthur rose slowly. "Right. Gather all those affected and place them in the hall we usually use for the infirmary. Grab as many helpers as you can. And Gwaine, see if there are any healers anywhere in the city willing to come. We need to find out what all the victims had in common."

Gwaine gave a swift salute and almost ran out of the door.

Arthur and Leon both glanced down at the fallen man. "Why does it always happen to you, Merlin?"

"Sire, perhaps you should not be so near the boy," one of the councillors stated. "What if it's contagious?" Arthur couldn't tell who spoke, though he wasn't particularly interested.

"He has a point, Arthur." Leon was all concern. Arthur could understand, even if he did feel irritated at the over protectiveness.

"If it were contagious, I doubt all those affected would have passed out all at the same time." He ran his hand over his eyes and down the side of his face, coming to rest on his jaw. "Will you take him to the hall, Leon? Then try to contain the panic that will inevitably ensue from this. I'll send some more men to help." Arthur turned to the councillors. "Gentlemen, I believe we need to reconvene." There were nods of agreement all around, each making their way toward the door to take care of whatever business this affliction may or may not have caused them.

Leon reached down and hauled the servant up and over his shoulder, almost fearful at how light he actually was. Arthur continued, "I'll be down as soon as I find Guinevere and make sure she's alright. She'll want to know what's happened, and her medical knowledge could come in very useful right now." Arthur's practical tone was hiding his turmoil and his panic. If this was an attack on the kingdom and he was fine, then perhaps Guinevere was one of those now lying unconscious on the floor somewhere? He couldn't move fast enough to make sure she was safe.

…..

Whatever had struck those down in the citadel had not been confined merely to that building. The city around the castle had also been affected, as had the lands surrounding it, and as Gwaine had pointed out there was just no pattern to who it had targeted. Especially since both royals were perfectly fine. If it had been an attack on Camelot, surely the royal family would have been the first to go. It made no sense.

Gaius and Merlin he could have understood if this had been some sort of odd illness. Their close quarters could have easily allow it to be passed from one to the other. But the other victims were as diversely spread as it was possible to get, and covered every class.

Three knights, one armourer, two kitchen girls, and one of the small spit boys; a dyer, a woodsman, three herders and several farmers, one with his pregnant wife and one with his teenage son; a village elder and several children all from different villages. Three of them were less than four years old. Most of the healers had been struck, several stable boys, a good few servants, and nine nobles, five of which were women, and one of whom was just six. And that was just in those villages and the city who had sought help from their king.

All had the same symptoms. They had all started screaming and then just fallen unconscious. And all had yet to wake. It had been a week, but none of the victims showed signs of succumbing to whatever had befallen them. They just seemed asleep. Sixty-three people just lying there, unresponsive. Not drinking, not eating; just breathing steadily in and out.

The rumour mill was rife; none of it credible or even mildly truthful. The only thing any of them had in common was the fact they all fell at the exact same moment and nothing had worked to revive them. And all knew that sorcery was the cause.

Arthur had sent patrols in every direction seeking either the responsible sorcerer or news of anything suspicious, but nothing turned up, save more sufferers. It was a mystery of the highest order. Arthur didn't think he could even call it an attack really, since no one had died. They were merely…unaware. If this was an attack, it was one of the strangest and most peaceful he had ever encountered.

Arthur stood with Gwen, arm round her waist as they surveyed their friend and his surrogate father, laid side by side in the makeshift infirmary, soft blankets and pillows making the straw pallets as comfortable as possible.

"What are we going to do?" Guinevere asked, anxiety practically radiating from her. "Nothing works. They live and show no sign they will die from lack of nutrients at being unconscious so long, but…just how long can they stay like this? They won't even take water. By all rights, they should be dead. The healers and herbalists who escaped it have never seen anything like it before."

"It's magic. It has to be. Some kind of spell or curse or something!"

"I know, Arthur. But if it is, what are we to do?" Gwen looked at her husband of two years. The strain on him was showing. He had never been without Merlin for so long before, and his interactions with everyone showed it. He was lost. He had never openly expressed his fondness for Merlin, nor Merlin for Arthur really, but it was obvious to anyone who looked now how much Merlin just lying there inanimate was affecting him.

"We need the druids." It was said so softly, almost as if he were talking to himself, making a long debated decision in his mind.

"Arthur?"

The king looked at his wife squarely, his eyes weary. Of all the people, she would understand the decision he'd come to, save Merlin and Gaius. He sighed. "Without Gaius's well of wisdom on matters such as these, we're running blind. Geoffrey is doing his best but he's never been the expert in the physician's craft that Gaius is, and he's never been a sorcerer. All our other senior healers are here." He indicated the rows of the fallen healers with his head. "We need the druids' medical training as much as their magical knowledge. I have no idea if they will even help us. We have pushed them away so long." He sounded so unsure, vulnerable. Looking down the long columns of sleeping people, their citizens, theirs to protect and yet here they were, needing help and being unable to have it.

"You haven't persecuted them since you took the throne. You promised them you would treat them with respect, which you have, and I know they have been buying supplies here before now. Perhaps they will come. You never know until you try." Arthur put his arms around his queen, hugging her like she was the only connection he had to this world.

"The council will not support me."

"Probably not. They haven't exactly been agreeable to a lot of the changes you've made since you married me. But know this, Arthur. The council is not everyone. Your knights will, the commoners will, and I will. This has affected all of us. Merlin and Gaius would both have given you their blessing."

Arthur huffed and smiled a little, pulling her into a deeper embrace as she confirmed his earlier thoughts. She was the perfect queen. "I know it. I will ride out tomorrow."

"And the council?"

"I rely on your good judgement as to how much to tell them."

"Merlin would call you a coward for giving the task to me." It was said with the same type of smirking grin Merlin would have given, and Arthur couldn't help feeling grateful she was still with him and hadn't been one of the mysterious fallen. He couldn't have stood to lose both his supports.

She moved away then to talk to those few physicians and herbalists they had found, and who could be persuaded to tend these people.

The king stooped slightly and placed one hand on Merlin's shoulder and the other on Gaius', squeezing them both ever so slightly, knowing they couldn't feel it, but needing the contact. "I will find a cure. We will get you back. You'll be back to polishing my armour in no time." The small aside to his servant would have earned a witty comeback at any other time. Now he was met with silence and the steady rise and fall of Merlin's chest. It was unnatural for his servant to be so still. Arthur hated it, hated the quiet, _**and**_ George's respectful efficiency. Hated his calm, unruffled subservience, and the fact that Merlin's presence that had permeated every crevice in his life until now was just…missing.

The herbalists had known roughly where to find the druids. Their camps were more open and noticeable now since Arthur had given them their right to move freely through his kingdom. They had made their home at the farthest edge of the Darkling Woods, just on the border of Nemeth's lands and straddling the stream that marked the split between the two kingdoms.

It would take two days to travel to it even on horseback, but the herbalist hadn't known of any others that may have been closer. There seemed no hurry since the victims were suffering no ill effects other than being unconscious, but Arthur was determined to find help as soon as he was able. His honour and conscience demanded it.

Guinevere would hold the castle until Arthur returned and he had every faith in her abilities. She had come a long way from the stuttering serving girl Arthur first became aware of all those years ago, and he felt confident she would do an admirable job.

There had been much debate as to who would accompany the king. All the Round Table knights had wanted to be included. But Arthur had a feeling that would overwhelm the camps. They were after help, not give the impression of an invasion. Somehow if they all turned up, he had a feeling they would withhold any help they might have otherwise offered.

So Arthur had decided on only two knights to accompany him, but had ended up with a fight on his hands. Gwaine had told him in no uncertain terms he would not be left behind and Arthur did respect that, knowing Merlin and he were close. But Gwaine was not known for his tact or general diplomacy, so he had needed to bring Leon, as he was the only one apart from Merlin that the hothead seemed to listen to. He had tried to leave Elyan behind for Guinevere's sake, but she had insisted that he would be better placed with Arthur, as he had spent some time with the Druids when he had gone a wandering. After that, Percival would not be left behind, and so they all had ended up in his company.

It had been strange to say the least. No Merlin chattering away, Gwaine was rather silent in worry for his friend, and the rest all subdued as they had been since the malady had struck.

Merlin was their little brother. Their lucky charm! Everything seemed brighter and more optimistic when he was around. Without him, it was like the sun had disappeared behind a raincloud.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N A little shorter than I would like but I kept debating for a couple of days as to whether to post as is or make it longer. Finally came to the conclusion the break was a natural stopping place. Next one I hope is a little longer. I can't thank Doberler enough for all her hard work. Marvelous Beta. My grammar would be a complete mess without her.**

 **Once again Merlin isn't mine. I'm just making him take a nap. He's a bit tired poor boy.**

 **Take 2/ As some of you may have noticed my formatting on the last chapter was a little odd to say the least. Doc manager does not seem to like track changed documents for some unknown reason and keeps picking up on them even if I've taken them off. But it doesn't show until I post it. ARRGGGGHHH! So I apologise heartily for the delay and the previously poor quality, I've had to manually redo all the edits. I hope it now reads a little easier. Let me know if you spot anything I've missed please.**

 **...**

Screaming.

Chapter 2.

The camp looked deserted in the waning light of evening. The stiff breeze making the flags and drying clothing snap and flutter. Tents and rough huts stood in small groupings abandoned and devoid of life.

There were cooking pots suspended over fires still burning merrily though so the people were still here somewhere. It just looked as if they had hastily fled, probably at the sight of the red cloaks. It made him feel guilty that just the sight of his trusted knights, who would instil a sense of safety in most other citizens of the kingdom, were now the cause of mistrust and fear for the Druid community.

He felt as if he should just turn around and leave them in peace. Remove themselves so they could carry on their lives in comfort. But there were too many reliant on the help these people could provide. He had no choice but to press forward.

"Please! We mean you no harm!" His shout went unheeded despite it's sincerity, as not a soul could be seen. Sighing, he turned back to his men with a sense of fatalism. "Leave your swords on your saddles and spread out. Keep your hands clear and away from anything that could be construed as a weapon; and go slow. We don't want to scare them any more than we obviously have."

The chorus of "Yes, Sire" was reassuring since none were questioning his orders. They needed this to be as painless for everyone as possible. He only hoped he could be forgiven enough for past wrongs, to allow him to at least speak with them about the situation. He couldn't blame them for their reticence. After all the last time he had set foot in a druid camp was to atone for a massacre.

There was a slight movement off to his left, a fleeting glimpse of something disappearing behind another tent. He wasn't sure if it was even human, small game or a pet perhaps, but he would try one more time. "If there is anyone here, please, we need your help!"

"You would ask for **our** help Arthur Pendragon?" All five men whirled around at a voice full of wary suspicion emerging from a middle aged man standing in the shadow of a young beech tree. He was draped in a worn green cloak of obviously Druid origin, his face hidden by the hood. "Give me one good reason why we should give it?"

Arthur closed his eyes. The sting paining him more than he'd wanted. He supposed he should have anticipated such a question.

"There are sixty-three of my citizens struck down with something we cannot fight with science alone. There are children amongst their number." _An appeal to their emotions? Was he trying to manipulate them?_ If it helped he would do anything. He could not stand the thought of failure, of having to tell the relatives, who looked at him with such hope, that he could not bring them back. "They have come from all across the kingdom and have been insensate for a week. Nothing we try in order to revive them works. The Duids have always been renowned for your healing abilities. Your knowledge would be invaluable in helping us find a cure." _Was he now playing on their egos?_

"You don't know why they have been struck down." It was not a question, though it had been phrased like one. The inflection was all wrong. It sounded more like a statement of surprise _. Had the man thought they had caused it?_

Arthur answered the man as if it had been a question. This was not their doing. He needed him to understand that. He only hoped this man held influence within the clan and might believe the sincerity of their desperation. "It struck without warning. Most of our healers were affected. Those that are left have never seen its like before. They all just collapsed."

"Screamed and fell unconscious?" He said it with authority, as if he knew exactly what they were dealing with but needed the confirmation.

"Your people? They have been affected too?" How had it become so widespread? Exactly what was it that was affecting them, and how powerful was it, if a camp of magic users were not even spared?

"They have. And considering its nature we believed Camelot had a hand in it."

Arthur bristled at that, even after guessing why the Druid was so reserved, but bit his tongue. There was no reason for these people to trust his promise of respect. He had created this problem and now he would have to deal with it.

"If however you are here now…just who has set it off?" That was not directed at Arthur. He could see his thoughts had turned inward. He kept looking behind the king as if trying to find something.

"You know what this is? What is causing it?" His hope spiked despite the mistrust rolling off the Druid in waves.

"We had an inkling, though with the news you bring we may very well be wrong. Why did you come to us, Pendragon?"

"I thought I had already answered that question." Arthur was turning far more wary than he wanted to be, this entire conversation becoming cryptic rather fast. He needed these people and the information they could bring to bear. He had known as soon as he set out it would not be easy, he had only hoped for it. It was promising to be a forlorn one.

"You have never sought our help before. I was merely curious as to why you needed us now."

Ah. Now that he could answer. "Both the court physician, who would have been our first choice and his apprentice, were amongst most of those healers who collapsed; all of whom were the ones who could have identified this. Those that are left are the herbalists and apothecaries. They do not have the formal training to deal with an illness on so large a scale."

The man's eye's closed and he seemed to visibly sag. "Your manservant is the physician's apprentice is he not?"

"Well yes." Why would Merlin be brought into this? Unless they knew him from when they ventured into the city gathering supplies? Let's face it everyone in Camelot knew Merlin. He had a way of making friends so easily. The few Druids who were brave enough to rove within the city walls, would have been no exception to his beaming smile. Though why he should be brought up now was beyond Arthur's current understanding.

"Even he." They were said softly and made no sense, but those two words seemed to hold a wealth of meaning. He paused for a moment, and then it seemed as if some internal debate reached its conclusion and he made a decision. Whether it would prove to be in Camelot's favour was yet to be determined. He lowered his hood, and gazed at Arthur, his clear grey eyes clouded with concern. _Or was it fear?_ "You and your men had best come with me. There is much to discuss."

Arthur looked at him as he turned on his heel obviously expecting them to follow. He glanced back at his knights who looked a little spooked, unnerved.

"You will help us?" Arthur couldn't understand it. Why had he agreed so readily?

"We will. Though how much you will value such help is yet to be seen." That sounded distinctly ominous. It sounded in fact like he really wouldn't want to hear how to save them. Just what could be worse than the horror of so many subjects being afflicted with a magic induced ailment?

Unless…God he couldn't think of it but…what if they couldn't cure them? What if they were only taking them somewhere more comfortable to break the news more gently that they were beyond saving?

At the looks on the faces of his knights this had also occurred to them. Their faces even more grim than when they had first set out from Camelot, they followed the Druid further into the heart of the camp.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N I need to apologize to all you lovely people about the terrible wait but to explain you need to know I'm a craftsperson with my own company and this happens to be the most mentally busy time of year for personalised commissions of all kinds. I'm up to my ears in glass and fabric, porcelain and paint. This will be finished, however until mid December it tends to be completely nuts time wise so updates will be unpredictable.**

 **Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou Doberler my lovely Beta, these chapters really wouldn't be the same without you, your insights and your fab additions.**

 **Merlin really isn't mine.**

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Screaming.

Chapter 3.

They were taken to the far side of the camp, to a spot well away from the majority of tents and on the opposite bank of the stream.

They were now over the border, had entered the lands under the protection of Nemeth. Arthur was very conscious of the precarious nature of his being here. If Nemeth hadn't been an ally it could have been construed as an act of war. Even as allies, it would be a dicey prospect to be found on this bank, until he could explain to King Rodor and Princess Mithian. He did wonder if any of their citizens had been laid low, or if Camelot had been targeted specifically.

As they approached two larger than average fabric roofed shacks set slightly apart from the rest, he couldn't help but feel that they may get at least some of the answers they sought.

The Druid in front disappeared beneath the faded red cloth of the foremost hut, ducking to avoid the crosspiece at the entrance of the structure. Arthur and his knights did the same. Inside, it was slightly taller than they, and far wider than it had looked from the outside, walls of woven wattle stuffed with moss to help ward off any wind chill. A box made of metal and glass hung suspended from a chain secured into the roof beam of the structure. Arthur had never seen its like before and wondered at both its purpose and if it were something to do with magic. His mind shied from the thought, but Arthur knew he would have to get used to it, both thinking and being around it if this were a magical malady. They may need magic to counteract it. He didn't like the implications if such were the case, but he would cross that bridge when or if he came to it.

Woven matting made of some kind of broad leafed grass covered the hard packed dirt floor, and around a dozen three-legged stools arrayed around a fire pit made up the only furniture. Was this some kind of meeting room? Their equivalent of a council chamber? It was rough as could be expected of a temporary dwelling, but surprisingly well organised for all that.

At the moment there were no others present. They had seen no one else since they had arrived and Arthur started to believe they wouldn't see anyone else. But the flap once again moved to admit another Druid, a very familiar looking Druid and one to which their original guide bowed his head in respect. Ah, so this man was higher in the hierarchy. Was he the headman, their leader?

"Arthur Pendragon. I must admit to being surprised at your visit." The cadence of his voice was also one he had heard before, he was sure of it.

"I know you." He wracked his brain trying to figure out where he might have seen him before, and then it clicked all of a sudden, and he flushed slightly in shame as the man turned slightly to talk quietly with their guide, who then slipped out of the tent-like hut beckoning for his men to follow and muttering about food. After one glance at Arthur, who gave a reluctant nod, his knights followed the guide in search of sustenance. In a camp full of magic users who seemed terrified of them all, it was highly unlikely anything would happen to them. And even if it did, there was not much they could do to counteract so much magic with so few swords. It would be best to give a measure of trust now, even if it did make him feel naked and vulnerable to be without his shadows.

"You were the man I gave the care of a Druid boy a few years ago, and the one who held the Cup of Life. You move around a lot it seems."

"Ah, you remember me. I didn't think you would. I am Iseldir, an elder of this clan. And yes, we do have several camps we make use of according to the seasons and circumstance."

And that would have made Arthur flush a deeper shade if he hadn't been better able to control the outward appearance of his emotional responses. He could imagine some of those circumstances would have involved the unwelcome arrival of red cloaks bearing a rampant gold dragon if the reaction at their current appearance was anything to go by.

"Forgive me but, you do not seem very surprised to see us, Iseldir. And yet we never saw anyone as we came in who could have told you of our arrival so quickly."

"I should think you of all people would know that even if you cannot see something it does not mean it is not there." The man was radiating affability and amusement. A distinct contrast in greeting to the other man's anxiety and air of hostility. And yet that same air made it seem as if his words were some kind of lesson to be learned and Arthur the errant pupil. It was not perhaps the best start they could have since it made Arthur's hackles rise. He had to make a conscious effort to push such feelings back down. Now was not the time for pride nor kingly arrogance. The small voice at the back of his mind telling him so sounded suspiciously like Merlin, and even went so far as to call him a prat.

"Now please, my lord. Sit. We have much to discuss." The hard stools were not the most comfortable, but better than the floor at any rate.

"You know why we are here?"

"Fendril informed me, yes. He will gather the elders; decisions will need to be made and provisions put in place." He paused then, as if assessing the young Pendragon. "How much do you know of what has occurred?" It seemed altogether too hesitant that question, as if he were assessing how much to tell him. Perhaps due to Arthur's suspicions of its origin or a natural wariness on the part of the Druids. Either way, Arthur had already determined to be scrupulously honest, as little could be gained from any dissembling.

"Only that it's widespread, affecting every corner of the kingdom, even here. The victims are random, seeming to have nothing in common. The remaining healers are baffled by it; by all rights they should be dead with how little they are getting in the way of food or water and…" He paused here, not knowing if it would cause offence to state the conclusion everyone in the country seemed to have come to.

"And…?"

"We believe it was caused by magic." There. It was out. And the man…Iseldir, didn't seem the least put out by it. He would have thought they might be, given their close association with magic, and the Pendragon house having such a bad reaction to anything magic related.

"You would be correct in that assumption."

He was? Arthur's brows rose into his hairline, too late to conceal his shock. And the man had admitted it with nary a murmur? Most users of magic would have denied it, he was sure.

"So," he began cautiously, already thinking along the lines of Morgana, but hesitant to say it aloud, "who would cast such a spell? Why are the victims so diverse? And how do we fix it?"

"Not a 'who', my lord, or rather not entirely, but a 'what'." Arthur looked at him blankly, and the Druid let out a soft sigh, settling in for the lengthy explanations that would be needed.

"During the height of the great magic, when the priestesses of the Old Religion held the reins of power and the kingdoms were little more than feuding baronies, there were objects made of and with magic in order to control the population. Many such creations were destroyed during the purge or put to use against the very people who had made them. A few were smuggled out with trusted members of the priesthood and hidden."

Arthur caught on rather quickly to what this impromptu history lesson was getting at. "You believe one of these artefacts is the cause? That is why you thought we had a hand in it? Because Camelot has been known to use them before." That wasn't a question, and Arthur heard the word 'hypocrite' clearly in his head. "But what would the purpose be, and why would it affect such randomly diverse people?"

"Ah, but they are not entirely random. It targets groups of people who display a certain...mind-set, shall we say. They share particular traits and aspects of their…character." Arthur was now openly sceptic, and he didn't miss how carefully Iseldir chose his words.

"Right…let's say I believe you. That these victims have all been selected due to their 'personalities' being similar. Why? What would it gain them?"

"Well, quite apart from the natural chaos such a sudden attack would cause, Fendril also mentioned that most of your healers were amongst their number."

And just like that Arthur could see exactly what the Druid was implying. This had sent the realm into a frenzy, and the people they relied on to patch up any wounds and illnesses were now lying there comatose, causing yet more panic, but also depriving them of a major asset in case of war.

The opening of the flap signalling the return of his knights went unheeded by the king, concentrating as he was on Iseldir's words. The fragrant soup Leon handed him wordlessly was set down at his side even as he acknowledged his first knight with a nod.

"You believe someone is weakening us in order to defeat us more easily in battle."

"It is a possibility." The sheer ingeniousness of it was terrifyingly brilliant.

The implication greatly disturbed Arthur, and he shifted uncomfortably on the stool. His knights doing the same, had obviously arrived in the midst of a delicate conversation and were staying blessedly silent. "So, how do we counteract it? Is there a way?" If a war were to be imminent, he would need every resource at his disposal at full strength.

"There is. You must remove the victims from the object's influence, and then find the source and destroy it." He said it as if it were a simple feat, but Arthur could already envision that it would be anything but. The knights at his back all gave murmured protests, wordless and indistinct, but conveying all the frustration Arthur was feeling right now.

"What do you mean remove them from its influence? How?"

"The object you are searching for is a disc of silver roughly the diameter of your palm. It is etched and moulded with designs and sigils of the Old Religion. This disk, once activated, creates a deadening effect around it. Depending on how fine-tuned the person wielding it has made it, the circle of its influence can be just a few meters, or in this case, a few leagues."

The sheer scale of what Arthur was facing suddenly made itself known with only that one statement. To search so vast an area for one small object, when the threat of war might be all too real by persons unknown, it was far and away too much to cope with.

"And just how are we to find this mystery disc?" It sounded harsher than he'd intended, but now was not the time for walking on eggshells or tiptoeing around the issue. "If what you are saying is true, there would be too much ground to cover to look for it, or the sorcerer who wields it."

"And it is made worse by the fact it may not have been wielded by a sorcerer at all." Iseldir's voice had taken on the timbre of a teacher for a particularly dim-witted student. Arthur did not much care for it, especially whilst he issued highly confounding statements such as the last. Leon, for his part, snapped his head toward the Druid, a stern reproach on his lips. But he kept silent when Arthur gave him a look, conveying with his eyes that he should let it go as he had, now not the time to take umbrage at a lack of respect. God knows they had cause.

"Come again? What exactly do you mean by 'it may not have been wielded by a sorcerer'? As far as I'm aware, magic must be manipulated by a magic user, hence a sorcerer…or sorceress, I suppose."

Iseldir looked taken aback for a moment, as if it had never occurred to him that Arthur would be so ignorant of even the most basic facts about magic.

"I had not realised that your education had been so lacking, Arthur Pendragon. Did your father never take you down to his vaults, or boast about his many acquisitions? There are many items your father deemed useful in his fight; magical items that did not need a sorcerer to use them, and indeed could be used against them. Your father was not against such tactics when it was he who held them." And that had not sounded bitter at all! Arthur caught another glare of disapproval from Leon, and gave him that look again, this time accompanied with a nearly imperceptible shake of his head.

It made it seem somewhat reassuring that this man could be capable of feeling bitter. His air of forgiveness and serenity in the face of what was supposed to be one of his peoples' greatest enemies had seemed somewhat superhuman, and Arthur had not entirely trusted it. Now…now he seemed more approachable, more normal, and just as fallible as the rest of his flawed companions.

And yes. His father had briefly expounded on the subject of magic-suppressing cuffs, which he had thought somewhat hypocritical since they had to have been made with magic, but he had never mentioned anything else. And everything down in the vaults was just a jumble of magical paraphernalia that was inventoried quarterly, and was considered valuable and arguably dangerous. But it had seemed to be folly for him to ask about their purposes since it sent his father off into rages about magic and all its evils every time. Now it just highlighted both his ignorance and the depth of his parent's hypocrisy.

"So it could be anyone? Great, just fabulous in fact. And how exactly are we to take our people outside of its influence if we don't even know how far that stretches?"

"You can bring them here."

Arthur, just about to launch yet another question at the Druid, paused at that. "Here?"

"I was one of those who fell." The king looked at him with disbelief and the Druid made haste to explain. "Luckily, the healer tents…" Iseldir gestured around at the structure they were in and the vague direction of its twin. "…are just outside the circle, and my kinsmen had the intelligence to realise that we recovered rather quickly once we were brought here. Otherwise, we would not be having this conversation. It is one of the reasons Fendril came to greet you. Whilst the disc is active, we cannot move across the stream. It would cause the same reaction and we'd collapse as previous. But we know this area is free from the magic that has caused this." He stared thoughtfully at the king. "So, unless you wish to move your people all across Albion looking for another such spot, it would be a simple matter for them to come here as our guests."

Arthur thought it sounded more like a dare, reiterated by the slight challenge in his gaze, but right now, he had no other options. He thinned his lips and looked round at his knights, finally getting a chance to gauge their reactions to all they'd heard after their return. Their expressions and body language made it clear they felt even more suspicious than he did.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Well there ya go another chapter of screaming too. Whoop whoop! I seem to be on a roll. Now I just need the next chapter of Tie the Threads and I'll have done three chapters all of different fics in a week. Much better than not touching em for a month, which I am heartily sorry for but really couldn't be helped in the circumstances.**

 **Well My thanks go once again to Doberler. I've been working her rather hard this week what with my near constant back and forth emails. Thanks hon, I don't know what I'd do without you.**

 **...**

Screaming.

Chapter 4.

They were wary of their hosts. How could they not be?

And truth be told, their hosts were just as wary of them, possibly even more so. They still hadn't seen many people and those they had kept their distance. Mostly men, very few women and none of the children.

It brought it home to the young king that though he might feel vulnerable and exposed whilst here, the Druids felt that way all of the time, and no matter where they went. In spite of his new laws with regards to their treatment, prejudice still held a lot of sway in his kingdom.

So they kept to that one large tent they'd first been shown. More food, drink, and bedding had been provided and though nightfall was not well advanced, it was in fact barely twilight, they had all decided not to intrude on the camp's evening routine.

They sat around the fire pit in the centre which now held a merry blaze and the pot of water set upon it to heat the herbal tea Iseldir had provided to drink rather than the wine they would have preferred. It wasn't bad per se, but equally, it was not what they were used to. Gwaine especially eyed it with distaste and brought out his ever-present flask of cider, the one Arthur had given up on prying from his possession on patrols.

They all looked a little more dejected after Arthur had filled them in on all they'd missed.

"There is something going on I cannot put my finger on. Something isn't right in this picture and my gut tells me not to trust them entirely. Of course, that might just be the years worth of persecution each side has suffered at the hands of the other. Even so, I feel that to bring all of the Fallen here will be a grave risk."

"What choice do we have? Do we know anywhere else they could be revived?" It was a question Arthur had been trying to resolve in his own head but Leon had driven straight to the heart of the matter. He pondered on the problem. He had an idea of how they might narrow the search at least, but it could still take weeks to find this…magical disc…they needed to somehow destroy.

What could they do in the mean time? How long could his people survive without sustenance in the half-life they'd been subjected to? There was nothing else they could do but take up Iseldir's invitation. "No, none. No real choice but to accept." He sat and ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit he'd picked up from Merlin. "So then we need to ensure our people's safety whilst they are here, and without causing even more damage to our relationship with the Druids."

"It must be wonderful to be king, Princess." Arthur glared at the knight.

"If you have nothing useful to contribute, Gwaine, I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourself. Have you forgotten Merlin is one of those we will need to protect?"

"I have forgotten nothing. But you both seem to be under the impression the Druids are out to get you."

"And can we be sure they aren't?" It was more curiosity rather than any actual malice that prompted Leon to ask. But just like Arthur, there was a niggling doubt as if they had missed something vitally important in the whole exchange.

"Unlike you, Leon, and the Princess over there, I've spent time with the Druids before. Winters are harsher up north in Caerleon's kingdom, and when my mother passed on there was nowhere for my younger sister or me to go." His fingers threaded around the flask as bitter memories of a time his few friends knew so little about dredged to the surface. One day he maybe should tell them the whole sordid story, but that was not something for today. "The Druids take in anyone if they need help or healing, and don't intend any harm to their people in return. See if any of your citizens would be willing to do the same for any stranger crossing their path." It perhaps wasn't fair to assume Arthur's people were less amiable to strangers than those in any other kingdom, let alone unsympathetic to orphaned children. But it was meant to cut into their pride for their pristine seeming country. Camelot's policies if not it's people had been blood enemies of the Druids for so very long that it was hard not to see the other as anything but foe. Gwaine summed it up with a mature, level tone quite at odds with his normally carefree and rakish personality. "They won't harm them, Arthur. They have too much respect for all life to gain any kind of revenge by killing a bunch of sick people."

Arthur looked at his knight steadily. This was new. No teasing filtered through his words, an unheard of event, he was in fact entirely sincere. A serious Gwaine was something different altogether. It made him realise there was much more to the man than was first apparent. Although, wasn't that true of everyone?

Leon shifted where he sat and Arthur glanced over in time to catch the almost guilty expression crossing his elder knight's face.

"I have to say, Arthur, I agree." That was surprising. Not two minutes ago, Leon had seemed just as distrustful and he'd been chomping at the bit to take Iseldir down a peg or two for speaking to his king without much regard for rank. "You remember, Sire. I was also healed by the Druids when Cenred wiped out our patrol. With the Cup of Life. They had less than no reason to do it and every reason to leave me to my fate. In fact, I believe I recognise a few of those who welcomed me back to the Land of the Living within this camp though I'm not entirely sure. My recollection is not altogether brilliant from that time."

"Elyan? Guinevere told me you spent time with them. What do you think?" He pondered for long moments, gathering his thoughts in order to give a concise response unburdened by anything overtly emotional. He still remembered the court's reactions to his possession and didn't want it to colour his answer with too much bias.

"I've never known them to show true violence as a group to anyone. Though just like everyone tempers can run high individually, but they're usually talked down before anything can escalate." Elyan shrugged. "Even when that Druid boy possessed me, all he wanted was you. He didn't want to harm anyone else." He paused for a moment of contemplation. He hadn't wanted to give it much thought before, the whole situation so deadly fantastical he just wanted to forget it ever happened. He talked about it with Gwen after her return from exile, and never spoke of it again. For some reason, he found sharing these thoughts with his friends right now somewhat therapeutic.

"And it was a childish want. You hurt him, were still hurting him by not letting him be free. I can't remember all of it, but, he thought the only way to let their spirits leave was to kill you. I don't think he'd have done it otherwise." Arthur had swallowed hard at the reminder, especially since only Elyan, Merlin, and he had been party to most of what went on at that ruined camp. He ignored the inquisitive looks from his other three knights while Elyan realized he may have said too much and continued with an apologetic glance to the king. "I feel there is something they aren't telling us, too, but they don't share knowledge readily anyway. It could just be their natural reticence around strangers coming for answers."

Percival, always the quiet one, but one who observed more than he would ever say pointed out a thought they had overlooked somewhat in their bid to protect. "Sire, there will be three knights here anyway once they revive. Sir Relyn, Sir Bryn, and Sir James are all good men. Once recovered, they should be able to keep an eye out for any trouble you think might be brewing."

"It's all well and good, Percival, but they would still need time to recover and we don't know how long that would take."

"So **we** stay until they are and then go find this disc. It would more than likely take us as long to work out strategies and search patterns anyway." The emphasis Percival placed on the "we" left little doubt as to who the large man meant. Arthur had to concede there was something still nagging, still pushing annoyingly at the back of his conscience, staying tantalisingly out of reach, but the plan they had was the best he could come up with on such short notice and such spotty knowledge. The Druid elder, Iseldir, now knew these men at least. He would hopefully not demure about their staying on. He just hoped he didn't live to regret his decision. …..

The trip back to Camelot seemed to take twice as long as the outbound journey, not least of which because they were missing one of their number. Percival had been dispatched at first light to inform King Rodor and Princess Mithian of the dire straits their citizens were in and the need for their protracted stay within the borders of Nemeth. He would meet them back at the Druid camp with hopefully a written permission for them to stay though he really couldn't see the compassionate and caring Mithian he knew not agreeing with the need.

There was also the lingering worry he felt at what he was still missing from Iseldir's words and manner. Those details kept him quiet and locked within his own thoughts. The remaining knights were also still uncharacteristically silent even though they now had some kind of a solution, one where their people had a chance at least. The camp that night was especially subdued no matter that Gwaine tried to lighten it with his seemingly endless supply of stories.

In the end, they all turned in early and rose even earlier than usual. None wanted to linger and cause the sleeping victims in Camelot any more suffering. Arthur had even more reason to hurry, with the vague threat of impending war. They would need to prepare what defences they could, which were little enough when the threat was so vague.

The logistics would be a nightmare, his attentions divided between care of his citizens and preparations for possible battle with perpetrators unknown. At least, he had good people around him who could lighten his burden somewhat, and experienced commanders he could delegate other responsibilities. Merlin had taught him that skill. The art of allowing others to lend a hand, no matter that he was so very bad at following his own advice. It was something his father would never have allowed, so sure there was a conspiracy behind every offer of help. He held no trust for any of his fellow men, and Arthur had long since come to the conclusion it was a very lonely existence and entirely unnecessary.

Nevertheless, it would still be hard. Transportation of the victims alone would be arduous, not to mention horrendous. With carts and draught horses, provisions and caretakers enough for all their people and payment for the Druids for their care once they'd arrived, tents enough to house them since he couldn't see the Druids having enough shelters for sixty-three extra people and possibly their families. It would be akin to mobilising a small army.

There would be opposition, not just from the council but from the relatives of those affected. There would be ruffled political feathers to soothe, dramatic emotional outbursts and general pandemonium throughout the kingdom. It may be enough to drive him to the edge of insanity, and he wondered if there was any place left that his wife wouldn't think to look for him whilst the worst of the flutter and upheaval was done.

The thought was only in jest but his conscience which now always sounded like Merlin's voice intruded once again with thoughts on his spinelessness and a reminder that Gwen knew how he thought anyway, so even if she hadn't found most of his hiding places already it would only be a matter of time. It made him want to laugh. The only thing stopping him was the anticipation of Gwaine's murderous expression that Arthur would dare to express his mirth in the midst of such a crisis when Merlin was counting on their good sense. And Merlin's reaction if he ever found out once he'd recovered. He'd never live it down.

Perhaps he could use the excuse of imminent battle to hole himself in the armoury with only his inner circle of knights? No, that was an act of cowardice that was unworthy of him. But perhaps it might be better to just not mention the place they were going? Just tell everyone they were taking them to a place where they could be cured and fail to disclose the Druids part in this unless someone asked? Unless someone who mattered asked, that is. Would it still be classed as dishonourable not to reveal the full truth in order to protect his citizens and gain the help they so desperately needed?

He sighed heartily to himself already knowing what course of action he needed to take. His conscience be damned—he would lie through his teeth if it would mean his people's safety.

"Elyan!" The shout made them all jump, lost as they had been in their own dismal reflections. It shot across the quiet like a whip-crack.

"Sire?" The young knight brought his horse alongside his monarch, taking in the new found look of resolve that had blossomed over his face.

"I need you to ride ahead and get Guinevere to start preparations for the transport of all sixty-three of the Fallen. Do not, for God's sake, under any circumstances tell them where we are taking them. As far as they need to know, they will be recovering in Nemeth. I also need messengers available and provisioned to go to the other kingdoms. We need to know as accurately as possible how far this influence has spread." Gwaine was following the conversation with great interest, suddenly grinning at Arthur's need for the messengers. Elyan was waved off, spinning his horse and galloping off in the direction of the Citadel.

"You have an idea of how to find the disc?"

"I do. Though, how well it will work is another matter." Arthur sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with one finely gloved hand. "Iseldir said it made a circle of force where those who shared a certain mindset were influenced. If it's a true circle and we can find at least some of the outer edges we might have a chance at finding close to the central point this force originates from. We would have less ground to cover at any rate and we have one point of reference at least. We'll need a very detailed map of the kingdom, of course."

"You know for a man Merlin consistently describes as severely unintelligent and a cabbage head at that, it's actually a rather good plan."

"Glad you approve, Gwaine. But Merlin is the one with a severe mental affliction which usually results in bouts of relentless idiocy." Arthur looked slyly at the knight from the corner of his eye. "It can be quite catching amongst the knights with dark hair, or so I've been told."

"And as insults go, Princess, that one could use a bit of improvement. It's rather a pity your training dummy has been out of commission for a week. You really do need the practice." With that Gwaine spurred his horse to a canter and left the king behind to brood in sudden melancholy, yet again because Merlin was not with them.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Alrighty then a nice long chapter for you guys because I feel terrible for the wait on this one. Um this fic for some reason just takes ages to pull out of my conscience so I'm sorry and I really can't guarantee it won't happen again but I will do my utmost not to let it.**

 **Thankyou to everyone who has followed, favorited and reviewed. This is the most amazing response ever. You guys are awesome.**

 **As is Doberler. Literally she is the best beta ever! She takes my rough draft and after several frantic and heated emails, and severe artistic pressure, between us we produce a diamond! Thanks really aren't enough.**

 **And Merlin? He's still not mine. Terrible I know. *sob*.**

 **...**

Screaming

Chapter 5.

It was just as chaotic as Arthur had thought it would be.

Even though Elyan had been dispatched well over half a day ago, he rode into a scene of utter pandemonium. He could see varying degrees of concern on Gwaine and Leon's faces too, though there was also a hint of amusement on Gwaine's. He wasn't surprised. That man seemed to live for chaos.

Citizens of all class and rank seemed to step and sway about each other and around things in a chaotic dance of unknown but undoubtedly urgent purpose. Carts of all shapes and sizes had taken up residence in his once pristine courtyard, some of which looked truly ancient, and some as if they were falling down where they stood, the greying wood, flaking, peeling and sagging on frames too rickety and tired to hold it.

Arthur felt truly worried for his afflicted citizens until Elyan emerged out from under one of the worst looking specimens, wearing only his old tunic and trousers that had definitely seen better days, and wiping dirty hands on an even dirtier rag. A ring of servants closed in on him, listening carefully, hanging on his every word.

"I've braced the frame on this one and it should be fine now. It was only that one cross piece that had split. You can start loading it with the straw now. Three people, though, maximum. Or better yet, use this for the tents and supplies."

The two burly servants turned away with a nod and a great deal of respect in their eyes for a knight humble enough to still get his hands literally dirty. Elyan continued directing some and ordering others while the pair of burly men he'd last seen in the city smithy followed him to another cart, his steps confident and assured, and seeming to be in his element.

That was when Arthur noticed the absolutely huge pile of fresh straw off to one side and yet more carts lined up, some half full and some in the process of being filled. Those with straw were being covered with blankets and the wooden frames farmers used to transport goods in the rain being stretched across along with the oiled linen to keep out the worst of the weather.

There were two more smaller carts drawn up by the entrance to the kitchens and the maids he knew worked within the confines of that vast space hauling baskets of goods hither and thither, loading them up as the steward looked on and ticked off on his endless lists.

As the king and the knights dismounted wearily, two young stable boys came rushing out of the melee, wild-eyed at the activity around them and docilely took the reins of all the horses. Normally there would only be one, but the sheer amount of bodies packed into the space made the horses skittish.

"Elyan!" Arthur's voice rang out at training-ground volume and the dark knight turned from his inspection of the cart, greeting the king with an amused smile as he sauntered over dodging the ever-growing crowds. Gwaine clasped him on the shoulder, a brief salutation added with a wide grin of approval.

"I see you've been busy. What progress? Walk and talk, Elyan. My chambers now."

The four of them wove through the crowds, the king and Elyan in the lead, Leon and Gwaine bringing up the rear. It felt more like defence manoeuvres of dodge and swerve. The steps to the Citadel were still a few tens of metres away, but at least, most of the people noticed the king and cleared a path for them when it was at all possible.

"We have twelve carts so far in perfect order. They can carry between three and five in each; the steward has been assigning the places. The larger ones might be able to carry more if they were all children but he's better at judging the amount of room they have." He shrugged a little. "The rest are needing to be checked but there should be enough if all those are in good working order. If not, Gwen knows a couple of farms we could try."

Arthur nodded thoughtfully, taking in what he had assessed thus far. His new family was thinking of things that even the best strategist may have overlooked, their experiences and knowledge as servants and commoners giving them access to resources the nobles would have been hard pressed to even see let alone put into practice. He smirked to himself at the knowledge that in this his wife and her brother had spectacularly outstripped his nobles for their ingenuity.

"Tents are not an issue though we did have to raid the stores for the army. Gwen decided the command and medical tents would be better, a few big ones rather than lots of smaller ones. The Great Hall is not a good place to be right now." Arthur raised an eyebrow at his knight's humour and sparkle of pure mischief. "There's a veritable legion of servants in there unrolling them and checking them all. Gwen wouldn't allow them to be packed without being sure." Arthur smiled at the thoughtfulness of his queen. She was certainly thorough.

"And the stores?"

"Three patrols out locally with orders to take time to hunt on the way back. All those due out in the next two days have the same orders. The kitchens are already working at full strength inventorying everything they have left in the stores and converting what the last patrol brought in to siege rations." He meant the dried meat, smoked fish, and salted joints, along with the double-baked bread that could last weeks but made hardly the most appetising of meals.

Arthur grimaced that such precautions were even necessary. Why did this kingdom have such a bad track record for being the target of attack? It was second nature now when the kingdom was put on alert to be ready in times of danger at the drop of a hat, but it was troubling that they were so well versed. Would they ever gain a measure of peace for more than a year? Arthur dragged his weary conscience back to the matter at hand.

"What of the grain reserves?"

"The farms and outlying villages have been informed of the potential threat, and volunteers start going out to the villages tomorrow to help bring in what harvests are ready. They will have carts with them and send them back whilst the men come in more slowly helping each settlement to evacuate or fortify on the way. The rest of the crops we'll have to hope we have the time to gather if and when this force you think is coming arrives." Elyan pointed in the direction of the chapel.

"The small courtyard at the back has been converted into a smoke and salting house to deal with the excess meat and fish the kitchens can't handle, or rather it will be when the builders can stop arguing. The Queen is there at the moment smoothing the ruffled feathers." Elyan's eyes shone with pride in his sister's resourcefulness and mediation skills. She had certainly come a long way from that unsure serving girl Arthur had married.

"And the council? What do they say?"

"They aren't happy to be left out of the loop, Arthur. They keep asking what this illness is and why they needed to be in Nemeth to recover. The families of those in the infirmary are wanting to know what's to be done."

Arthur stopped and looked behind him. Gwaine had wandered off, apparently finding something more interesting to amuse himself. He spied his dark hair over near the kitchen, chatting very familiarly with a comely serving maid clutching a basket of…apples? The king shook his head and turned back to his right-hand man with a small smirk. The man was nothing if not predictable. "Leon."

"Sire?" His steadfast First Knight stepped forward.

"Go liaise with Geoffrey, set up a meeting for the council in an hour. And another for the families two hours after that. I'll be in my chambers until the meeting. Have a servant send up some food and the most detailed maps of Camelot we have. I want all of you at the meetings so get some food and freshen up before then. I'll talk to the rest of the knights and the guard commanders this evening."

"Yes, my lord."

Arthur had a sudden thought but was just a little too late to call the knight back. Leon, even with his great height, was lost in the build-up and crowd near the steps in seconds. He turned back to his brother-in-law.

"Are you needed in the courtyard again any time soon, Elyan?"

"Not at the moment, sire. Bran and Marcus have it well in hand. What do you need of me?"

"See if you can find that list of where the victims are from or find out from the families. We already have a starting point of where we need to look. And ask my wife to join me in my chambers at her convenience."

With one last nod, the knight was gone, leaving Arthur to his now stuttering steps toward his chambers and his own racing thoughts, which had taken a slight downward turn at the information that he remembered those lists contained. It was something he hadn't allowed himself to think of before with Iseldir's insinuation this was a ploy to weaken them for war. Now with the plans for their people's recovery well in hand, he had the leisure to finally realise the incongruity of Iseldir's words, ideas, and actions.

Arthur didn't recall ascending the stone staircase just inside the wooden double doors of the Citadel, nor rounding the corner of the corridor that led to another flight of stairs he'd have to take. It was home, after all, he knew it like the back of his own hand and he could walk these halls with his eyes closed. As it were, they were cluttered with servants and nobles who once again cleared a path for their king, bowing in respect as he passed, and allowing him to keep his thoughts focused.

Yes. The senior healers had been struck down, along with the armourer, three of his knights, and several nobles who could have brought men to the fight. And, yes, that was rather suspicious. He couldn't deny that fact and was still prepared for war should it come to it.

But what he had failed to remember until now was that fully a third of those people lying comatose in the halls were children. What could it achieve to strike at children if they were gearing for a fight? All that would achieve would be to make the relatives of those children fight all the harder. There was nothing quite like the almost suicidal tendencies and fury of an angry parent or relative of a child. They wouldn't stop until they had their revenge. No. If anything, it just made them more dangerous.

Yet, what better way to distract the king of a militant kingdom than to show him a perceived threat?

He stopped. His forward motion had brought him to a window that looked out at the forest stretching across his kingdom, and the threat of it being taken from him strengthened his resolve. He had no doubts there was a real threat to his kingdom, but he now had a feeling it would prove a more subtle attack than siege engines, swords, bows and arrows. Oh, Iseldir had played him for a fool.

There was more to those people's condition than a shared personality trait. _There had to be._ Just what it was, however, still escaped him, like the carrot dangling in front of a reluctant mule. He could feel it, a barely tamed beast, clawing its way ever closer to his understanding, but he was both desperate for the knowledge to dredge itself from his mind, and terrified of what consequences it might prove to hold.

His chambers when he arrived felt as unwelcoming as they had for the week previous to his visit with the Druids. Arthur tossed his sword on the immaculately made bed and pondered how the room could feel so cold when the fire still roared. Later though they would be filled with his wife's warm presence and her soothing golden glow.

Perhaps it was just the sheer cleanliness of it. None of the servants replacing Merlin knew that he liked things a certain way or that particular items were always to be kept out and on display. Nor that his desk needed to be just so to ease the tediousness of his paperwork.

The pristine state wouldn't last long later tonight when Guinevere shared them with him, that bed especially would be much less than perfect. She would be loving and generous as always, and help him to forget his worries in waves of comfort and pleasure.

His chainmail suddenly felt far too heavy and tight, the links seeming to have shrunk. It needed to go. His belt was quickly discarded and carefully placed upon that imperfectly organised desk, and bending over, he wriggled his shoulders just like so, and twisted his hips a little like that, then pulled the chainmail from his overheated body to let it fall into a pool of metal rings on the floor.

The gambeson was easy work, untying the straps down the front and then peeling the heavily quilted protective coat off. He let it fall beside the chain. Adjusting his shirt to try and gain a small amount of movement from the stifling air, he became very quickly aware of the grime and stink where a week's worth of dirt and sweat clung to it. He went to the basin behind the screen and quickly washed with the cold water, determined not to smell like a complete boar when Gwen arrived, though he knew she never fully minded his manly odours right after a hunt, or patrol, or practice even. Though, he would need a proper bath later before they retired for the night, and perhaps his wife could be persuaded to wash his back for him. He changed into a fresh white shirt, one of Gwen's favourites, rolled up the sleeves in his usual custom, and then strapped on a more decoratively tooled belt. This would do for the meetings lined up tonight.

He may joke about Merlin's uselessness as a servant but honestly, every time the man was ill or working for Gaius it became apparent very quickly that Merlin knew him backwards like no other, and his absence was missed more than Arthur would ever willingly admit. He'd never found anyone who could anticipate his needs as well as Merlin. Arthur snorted at the thought. He'd never had anyone stay in his employ long enough to become that comfortable before. Merlin was the only man he'd been able to stand for…Good Lord! It was nine years of constant service.

Having poured a goblet of water from the jug on the table, he paused at the realisation. Near enough a decade, and though he had in certain circumstances threatened him with the sack, and even exile on certain notable occasions, he'd never truly meant it. He honestly didn't know what he would do without the perpetually cheerful man's presence.

All right, he did know what he would do without it since it had now been nearly two weeks, and admittedly, the world had gotten a little darker since. In reality, he couldn't do without him, was, in fact, doing everything he could to get him back. He would do whatever it took to bring him back to himself, even magic. Arthur shuddered in mild horror. It was a terrifying thought. That one man could have become so important he was willing to resort to the one practice his father had hated with such passion. Even if his own feelings on the subject had never been as virulent, except for those few harsh months when he believed that old coot of a sorcerer had killed his father deliberately.

His acceptance and promises to the Druid spirit-child had been based on that one odd conversation when Gaius had been kidnapped for the city's secrets as much as it had been from his own experiences when his and the Druid's paths had crossed. The message Gaius had imparted had been clear. The old man had tried to heal his father but for whatever reason had been unable to do it. And in hindsight, he remembered more clearly the look in the sorcerer's eyes: remorse and shock and utter devastation, so very like Merlin's eyes at times, windows of a soul that cared so much and so very deeply.

Eyes that at this moment held not the faintest hint of emotion, or recognition, or understanding, just like the sixty-two others of his people.

The goblet slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers, spilling its contents on the floor. Arthur never even noticed, gripping the table's edge as if his life depended on it. The strong king overwhelmed by the desperation for a friend.

That was how his wife found him moments later, hunched and despondent, eyes shut and shaking. She ran to him and pulled him to her without a word, enfolding him in her perfumed embrace, one hand holding the base of his skull as he finally let go the tension that had been building since their friend's collapse.

"Oh, my love," Gwen said gently, compassion shouting from her every move. "He will be fine. He will. We will make sure of it."

His whole body relaxed in her embrace, at her words. He opened his eyes and there were tears glimmering in the depths but refusing to fall, tears that he would never have allowed anyone but his wife to see. "I can't lose him, Guinevere. I can't lose any of them."

"I know, I know. You won't."

Her confidence in him was enough, was all he needed, and with one last manly sniffle, a brief but tender kiss, a surreptitious wipe of his lashes and the kingly mask was back in place. Gwen gave a hefty mental sigh as her husband, once again, withdrew and the walls visibly built themselves before her very eyes. It was not healthy for any man, be they king or commoner, to carry such emotional baggage with no release. There would be a heavy price to pay once this crisis was averted. Gwen had seen it now too many times to count. But once the barriers came into being there was nothing she could do but help him work to find a solution to the problem at hand, and then support him later when whatever had been plaguing them was removed.

Arthur had seen that look on his wife's face before, very much aware of what he'd just done and knowing that sooner or later, she was going to get her way and urge him to open his heart to her when this crisis was over. No one had ever done so for him to such an extent before, and he was truly grateful he had a wife he could fall apart in front of and not be judged weak for his trouble. But that would be later, when the situation was not so dire and lives were not dependent on his emotional stability. Now he thought it best to divert her attention and he cocked his head toward the window that opened upon the courtyard below.

"I think you've been very busy since I left. I did not expect such progress in only half a day. Well done, my lovely Guinevere." He kissed her forehead, a tender and chaste gesture.

Gwen was very familiar with this tactic too, diversion by compliment, and it usually worked, though never perfectly, the situations at hand usually too dire to ignore for long. "Well, as to that, I guessed if the Druids would help, and I was sure if anyone could it would be they, that our people would need transportation. I really couldn't see them agreeing to come here for an extended stay, no matter that they've been through the city before. Especially if magic would be involved. The laws are still in place, after all." She crossed to the discarded chainmail and gambeson and scooped them up in one clean, graceful sweep. Arthur hated it when she tidied up after him, but she hated tripping over his clothes, boots, or whatever else he left in the middle of the floor, especially when servants were not readily available. In the privacy of their quarters, she could never be persuaded it was now unbecoming of her status, no matter how many gentle arguments he came up with for her to cease, she shattered every one with her continued insistence.

Arthur smiled at the wisdom of his queen while purposefully ignoring her tendencies to slip back into old roles. She really was a worthy partner, showing him at every turn he had made the right choice in marrying her. "You are far too clever for me, my love. I'm not sure the council knows what hit them."

Gwen just grinned at him with a slightly evil smirk. "That council of yours could learn a thing or two about organisation from us servants. I don't think they will ever get used to the fact I'm not just a pretty or strategic decoration." She dropped the chainmail in the repair basket and the coat in the soiled linen bin with a saucy sway to her hips and a smile that really should be illegal thrown over her shoulder at him just to make her point. She then retrieved a towel, determined to wipe up that spill before an accident could happen. Her former serving sensibilities always took over when safety mattered or if she wanted to rile him playfully, her delectable derriere quite obviously bent for his benefit.

He laughed at her antics and then sobered quickly, unexpectedly. "Our council needs a serious overhaul," he agreed with a more serious tone than Gwen was expecting especially with the swat he sent to her silk-clad posterior and taking the towel from her to clear his own mess since she was insistent on cleaning it now rather than calling for assistance.

In truth, he didn't want anyone seeing him like this, still so vulnerable. It just wouldn't do now when they needed a strong leader. He picked up the goblet, though, and placed it on the table. Her and Merlin's take on responsibility had really rubbed off on him, yet he was not complaining about it. He really only kept up the pretence of incompetence to needle Merlin anyway, and since he wasn't here… He dragged his thoughts back from the emotional mire once again. He could not think on it now. "They seem to be more inclined to line their own pockets than make a decision for the good of Camelot. They are supposed to be my advisors, but the only thing I know to do after one of our sessions is the exact opposite of what they agree on. I cannot work that way."

"Merlin and I have both noticed that you seemed unhappy with the state of things but you never did anything. We just thought you needed time to settle into your role before dismissing them all and appointing your own."

Arthur's face had undergone a transformation at the words 'dismissal' and 'appointment.' It was as if he had morphed into an overeager impish child.

"Arthur?" Her frown grew even as his grin became ever more boisterous. His eyes sparkled like a mischievous child.

"I am King, am I not? I think the Round Table might just be the basis for my new council."

"Perhaps, this is a topic for **after** we have cured our people?"

"Oh, the official announcements, maybe. But all those able to attend from the old and the new will be there this afternoon. It's as good a starting point as any." He gave a short bark of a laugh, his spirits more restored than perhaps they should have been. "At the very least, it should be amusing to see the old councils' faces when they realise that change is coming. It might even be enough to make them see some sort of reason."

Guinevere couldn't help but laugh along with him. He could be a devil in his mischief at times. "And what exactly are you going to be telling them? You have yet to tell me what the Druids said."

His enthusiasm dimmed considerably but wasn't entirely gone. It was now mixed with a sudden puzzlement and maybe even anger. Just what had they been told? Her heart raced with instant trepidation.

"They can help, though they're being damned cagey about certain facts. It is magic that has caused it, as we thought; an object that affects a particular type of people."

Gwen's frown had only deepened. "What type of people?"

"Well, as to that, we still don't know. Apparently, they have characteristics in common that are targeted by the magic held within a metal disc. Iseldir, the Druid we spoke to, is holding information back. I'm certain of it and it's making me very unwilling to trust them properly. He basically implied that with all our healers laid out that some unknown force is softening us up for war, hence the preparations. But I've just realised, if you take into account the children, that explanation makes less than no sense."

Gwen could hear the words he hadn't said, could see his growing frustrations at being kept in the dark. She pondered this for some time, studying her husband as he paced restlessly, even when food was brought in with freshly warmed wash water. She didn't have all the details but a camp of magic users would be naturally secretive, she thought, and they wouldn't or couldn't readily share everything they know with complete strangers, let alone a king with whom they held a less than stellar past.

"Perhaps, he feels that you would react badly to what he had to say, and is keeping it from you in order to protect either his people or your own. Perhaps, even both. Or maybe he doesn't feel it's important enough to share. People don't necessarily have bad motives for not telling everything."

Arthur whirled around and stared at his wife. "No!" he breathed out in sudden shock, her words making several important key pieces of information slot into place as his blue eyes widened and a horrifying realisation stole across his conscience.

"Arthur?" Her husband looked like he had seen a ghost. No, he looked as he had all those years ago when he'd been confronted with her and Lancelot's betrayal. It made a severe shiver run down her spine and she was now truly worried. "Arthur?"

He started pacing again, distractedly. Talking out loud, but nowhere near his full volume, as if he were only voicing his thoughts to himself, it felt very much like he had forgotten she was even in the room.

"They all have supposed characteristics in common, and half the Druid camp had been afflicted by it, too. They thought we were the perpetrators because we had used such devices before, and went so far as to tell me specifically that my father had used them against their makers. They haven't told me everything and the look in Iseldir's eyes was more protective than secretive, as if he just didn't trust me with the facts."

His face bore the crippling grief of earlier and Gwen began to see an inkling of what her husband inferred with his words. Her hand came up to cover her mouth even as Arthur gave a pained growl.

"Why should he?" he said with disgust. "If it is as I suspect, I wouldn't have trusted me either, not the son of Uther Pendragon. But _children?_ He really believes I would harm innocents who so clearly don't know what they might carry all unknowing?" He hadn't been able to stomach sending that young Druid boy to his death on the pyre all those years ago, so why would he still think him capable of such cruelty? What would it take for them to see he was not his father?

And yet, another thought intruded like a sword in the gut: Gaius and Merlin. A small broken sob escaped his iron control. Such hurt held within, Gwen reached for him but it was as if he never saw her. Even though he took her hand and pulled her a little closer, he wasn't focused on her at all. Instead, staring off into the middle distance with such a look of unfathomable anguish adorning his features, it made her heart bleed. There was nothing more she could do for him but be there whilst he worked this through.

"Gaius had it all those years ago. But this, if true, implies that once a person has it, it never goes away. Did it rub off on Merlin? All those times he looked into finding those solutions to the problems plaguing us, did it somehow leach into him? Did we cause it to latch on, or does he just have it? Does he even know?"

Arthur knew he was rambling, knew his wife was trying to follow his crumbling thoughts, take in the enormity of his implications. But even he was struggling, drowning in all the small, tiny increments that led to this one terrifying conclusion. It wasn't even any one thing. Taken apart, they were just a jumble of facts seeming unrelated to each other. But taken as a whole, it made far too much condemning sense. It was, of course, far from definitive, but he couldn't ignore it any longer.

"Arthur, what is it? Please tell me." She was in front of him now, her hands on his chest, her eyes pleading for him to let loose the riotous thoughts in his head, to share the burdens that clouded his blue eyes, the summer sky turning to stormy seas.

"No." He was decisive in this, no uncertainty left within his frame, and Gwen was hard put to figure out if he was practically vibrating with anger at the Druids, the council, the Fallen, or himself.

"I'm sorry, Guinevere, but I can't say it." It took effort, but he caressed her face with as steady a hand as he could summon. "I don't have any evidence, not conclusively anyway. I'm not saying anything else until we have them back in Iseldir's camp and I can sort this once and for all. If nothing else, I need to make sure the council never has any doubts due to unfounded speculation. This only means we can't take anyone but my inner circle. I would trust no one else to follow me fully." It was not to say that the King did not trust all his knights, he did in most things but some of the older generation were so used to working within Uther's set of rules, they sometimes forgot for a split second just who now held the crown. Arthur relied heavily on the loyalty of his close and personal friends because they were not afraid to question, or tell him, in no uncertain terms he was wrong. It made for a very refreshing dynamic.

Gwen only nodded, feeling defeated, and led her husband to a chair. She brought the warm water for him to dip his hands and then tenderly dried them, all the while the silence allowing them to see only each other for a while.

Yes, if what they thought was accurate it would be better for everyone if it were never spoken aloud until they were entirely sure. And Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, and Leon would follow Arthur unto death. They would not strike out blindly nor without thought as some others were wont to do. Their people would be in good hands.

And the rest? The rest would take care of itself in due time.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Ok so this took a while, as usual, and is a little darker in theme so just a small heads up for those as squeamish as Arthur insists Merlin always is. LOL. It isn't actually all that bad but hey I want to cover all the bases.**

 **Thanks go to Doberler once more. I may as well say it here and now that she writes as much of this as I do and her suggestions are always spot on. Ta hun!**

 **Merlin is his own man (or at least shine, the BBC and destiny want him to think he is) Notice however my name is nowhere on that list of owners? Yeah, there's a reason for that.**

...

Screaming

Chapter 6

Silence mostly reigned in the huge hall, a brief lull having appeared in the visits of family and friends. Only the barely discernable noise of sixty-three sleepers' breaths broke the hush. That and the breathing of one man sitting and staring contemplatively out on the sea of comatose subjects. Only the slight difference in rhythm and depth made his contribution to the overall peace stand out.

Arthur had sent the two worn looking healers off for food whilst he sat with them all. They had looked at him askance until they realised he had been entirely serious, and thanked him profusely in genuine gratitude for the slight reprieve. No one else had come in though he had seen the door twitch a few times and heard the screech of its hinges. He assumed they had been family members and upon seeing he was the only attendant, had been unwilling to enter and remain under the eagle eye of a king.

He wondered if his own blankly straight facial expression and his desperate need for space to think had anything to do with the reluctance of loved ones to intrude. Or if this were also the result of the dinner hour fast approaching and the assuagement of worry for their plight his words had engendered at the meeting not more than half an hour past. In any case, he would need to leave soon to meet his knights and the point would be moot. No doubt, it would not be long before the self-appointed caretakers would be back. Probably the very moment he left.

He'd come down here after the meetings with the council and the representatives of the families of these same people. They had now been informed of their imminent transportation out of the kingdom, and it had been better received than he had dared hope when Elyan had given the impression of impatient councillors and frantic relatives chomping at the bit.

Despite the usual grumblings and posturing of his outdated lords they had been quieter than usual, possibly because of the introduction of **his** choice of councillors and their dawning realisation of how shaky the ground they now stood upon. Perhaps it was only because **he** was the one to tell them? The arrogance of a king could not be discounted as an effective tool in quelling the populous, more so the nobles than the peasantry since he was the source of their favour and comfort whereas for the villagers it was as a more abstract form of influence. Still, he was their ultimate authority figure. Who was there amongst them to gainsay his word?

The relatives had just looked at him in desperate hope that after nearly two weeks he had finally found some kind of resolution, even if it did mean further travel. With their relief visibly lifting them up before his very eyes, despite the gripes at not all of them being able to accompany their loved ones across the border into Nemeth, he had thought it best only to take as many family members as could drive the carts and care for them. It was a better solution than perhaps servants or guards in this case since family was less likely to turn on their own once the exact nature of their affliction became known.

There was something about the word "magic" that seemed to suck all the common sense his men usually possessed right out of them, and under Uther's laws they would have been well within their rights to mete out summary execution. They would probably never guess his wishes were so far removed from such a stance, not until it was far too late.

Looking out over the rows it came to mind that **he** could take his dagger and kill every last one of them here and now and there would be no one to stop him save those same relatives. All it would take would be one hint of the suspicion he held within his own mind as to why these particular people had been struck and his council would back him wholeheartedly and celebrate the victory over yet more **evil** magic-doers and this time with no loss of so-called **innocent** life. The thought sickened him that this was what the old council expected of him, no matter how justified they believed the action to be. The task would have been a brutal testament of this kingdom's stance.

Where was the honour in that?

It wouldn't matter to Lord Darby that here was Lord Mannon's youngest granddaughter, a girl he had last seen running in the garden chasing a butterfly, golden curls flying and laughter in her brown eyes. Nor the pregnant farmer's wife, hands calloused from hard work and brown hair streaked with lighter shades from long hours in the sun. They would be beyond the pale. Pariahs. And dead to him long before he'd uttered the entirety of what he thought. He, as king, would be expected to act in the best interest of the kingdom.

God, how easy it would be, to hand over his people, one by silent one, into the care of the druids, turn his back and walk away. Never look for the disc. Never find a solution that would allow them to return. Just manage a kingdom free from magic as his father had always wanted. An ultimate form of banishment, if you will. His father would have had no qualms save he would rather see them dead. He would have very gleefully ordered a mass pyre and a feast to follow, not even bothering that they were unable to even defend themselves. _His people. Those he took an oath to protect._

Where was the compassion and mercy in that?

Even Gaius, supposedly his father's oldest friend whom he had already sentenced to the pyre once at the hands of the Witchfinder without a thought; and Merlin, brave, idiotic Merlin, who had not only confessed to sorcery before and been dismissed but been accused of it so many times and always gotten away with it. He found it severely ironic and disturbing with so many suspicions he had never looked closer. Had it been willful ignorance then? Had he noticed so many instances and not **wanted** to see the truth? How stupid had he been?

Or had magic been involved? Was there a spell to beguile the senses and slide his gaze away from anything untoward? But no. If such was the case, nothing would have ever been said. No accusations, no pointed fingers of blame at all, and Merlin would never have had to prove Gaius or Gwen's innocence in so public a manner. Hell, if there had been such a spell and Merlin had known it, he would have protected them more than himself, his self-preservation skills were legendarily absent. And he remembered the fear in Merlin's eyes each and every instance their lives were put on the line. At the time he had put it down to fear for a friend, or of the circumstances, not that it would lead to cold hard evidence of his own use. He was an idiot. They both were.

It had been all too easy for them to fool everyone else because they were all too ready to deceive themselves. Merlin did not look like a sorcerer, none of them did. They didn't act like the stories or their own experiences of sorcerers and so in their minds, they were just the same as everyone else and had never even contemplated touching magic.

But evidence that magic came in all shapes and sizes now lay accusingly before him, mocking his assumptions. Who would suspect so large a group of ordinary looking people? And who especially would suspect knights? The men directly responsible for upholding the King's justice and laws were themselves breaking them. How did they live every day, knowing they served the man who would see them dead? How had they dealt with such obvious conflicts of interest? Or were they even conflicts, in their own mind?

And all those lucky accidents, solutions turning up just at the last second, survival for he and his men even when the odds of it were so very limited. He had believed he had been blessed, that some guardian angel had been sent from above to look out for his kingdom, that his mother may have loved him so much she had been looking on from beyond the grave and lending a hand when he needed it.

He'd never guessed there was a far more earthy reason. Just how many of his people had been nudging the kingdom along even with the threat of execution hanging over their heads? And knowing his father would not care, that the majority of the kingdom wouldn't care. Hell, even a year or so ago **he** did not care.

Where was the justice in that?

At this moment in time, he was most painfully aware that what was best for the kingdom was perhaps not what his old council or his father would have thought.

He had wanted to break free from his father's shadow since the day that heavy crown was placed upon his head, and even some years before. With all the revolutionary ideas and novel changes he had enacted since, had thought he had finally started to find his own feet, walk his own path. But sixty-three people had turned and condemned him all without saying one damned word, the silence now oppressive and fraught with barely suppressed tension. They lay there all unmoving and testament to his utter failure in his own goals. "Fair and just for all my people." His broken words rang loud and taunting in his mind, though he may have spoken them out loud. It was a relief when it was broken by the squeak of hinges and a tiny draft of cooler air that made him turn toward the sound.

"I thought I might find you here." His Queen stood in the doorway, blue silk looking darker in the gloom cast outside from the ring of flickering torches, as if she and it were made of shadows and smoke, the soft sound of her voice dropping like a stone into the depths of his all-encompassing depression.

He flicked a glance at his wife, almost lost in his contemplation, the whisper of the silk over the stone floor as she approached barely heard. She paused by the same blond girl. Marguerite, he thought her name. He could not remember, had never thought to notice her before all of this. Had never taken much notice of any of them, even those closest to him apparently. A fatal flaw he seemed unable to outgrow. Arthur stood by rote in the presence of a lady, bones creaking where his chain mail would normally have drowned out the embarrassing sounds. But this was Guinevere, after all. She'd seen him at his worst. He crossed his arms, one hand going to his chin.

"So many, and they've been hiding for so long." She turned from her own perusal of their people and studied her husband. His usual crisp blue eyes were dulled with worry, his lids red-rimmed with fatigue. His face was drawn taut, temporarily marring his classically refined features. He had fought many battles, but this one she feared would prove to be the most challenging. A duel between his rule and his heart. "How many knew, do you think?" This one was personal.

He knew what she was asking. His Queen could be the most subtle with her questioning. It was one of the reasons his council was unhappy with his wife. For a commoner to be so skilled naturally in court intrigue and politics was unconscionable to those supposedly gifted with the skill as part of their birthright as a noble. She could pull the most well-hidden of secrets from his lords without them even being aware, and was more tenacious than a dog with a bone at winnowing the facts if she thought an idea worth investigating. Yet, even her vast arsenal of talent had limits though. She had been just as surprised as he.

"I have no idea," Arthur replied with a weary sigh and a touch of puzzlement. "Our only expert is here." He pointed in the vague direction of the other end of the hall. To where Gaius and Merlin lay side by side. He didn't want to think on Merlin. Had purposefully sat as far away as possible in the faint hope he could distance himself from his emotions and think logically without looking on two of his most trusted inner circle.

The physical distance had not done anything to help, and Guinevere's questions just brought everything back to the forefront of his mind. She was asking if he thought Merlin had known. In all honesty, he rather thought he had **and** had been actively using it in defence of the kingdom or the protection of his friends. It was such a typical thing for him to have done. There were too many times Merlin had been the only one to have been awake where the trouble had just disappeared whilst they lay unconscious. Arthur's gaze slipped in the direction where the servant was laid and he couldn't stop the lump that formed in his throat. He'd always insisted he'd saved his life so many times, he'd never really seen it till now. But without any corroborating evidence, he was not about to say anything. Not even to Guinevere, his most trusted advisor and confidant. Not when he was in such turmoil over it himself.

Despite his logical mind telling him there was bloody good reason for Merlin not to say anything, that he could not tell him no matter if he had wanted to or not. He was, after all, the King. Ruler of a country who had always told them they were so unwelcome as to be killed for it. Despite Merlin's obvious trust and insane loyalty and affection, Arthur was first and foremost a king and the son of Uther Pendragon, and Merlin just one man in an entire kingdom he was responsible for. Such a truth could not be taken back or unsaid if it had proven to be a monumental disaster.

He wanted to think he would have been fair, would have at least heard his explanations before passing any kind of judgement. But he was man enough to admit his temper could be somewhat strained at times, and especially with Merlin. The man seemed to rub him the wrong way on purpose. Who knows how he might have reacted, say, in the heat of battle, or on a hunt, or even sitting in his own chamber.

His initial thoughts here had been absolute shock, and he'd been led to his conclusion over many days of hints and clues and with more than one life at stake. In all honesty, and with a significant amount of shame, he could not say for certain he would have reacted as well if it had only come down to one man no matter how well known. So as a strategist, he could well understand the need and reasons for silence and could even applaud him for his rare wisdom in keeping his own council.

Thinking and feeling as a friend, it wounded him deeply. And they were friends. It was a foreign concept for rulers and commoners to be friends, especially to the depth they had achieved. But Merlin had wormed his way into his heart, curled up and set up home. He could not evict him now without him taking a rather large chunk with him. It had taken far too long for him to see how much he cared. Only when the threat of losing him, not to death but something far worse, had he realised exactly how much. If the realisation of magic could not put him off, he rather thought there would be very little now that could.

"What will you do?" Arthur laughed aloud at his wife's question though tinged with hysteria as it were. It was not a pleasant sound.

"I have absolutely no idea. Can you imagine how the rest of the kingdom would react? They would be dead before the word 'magic' had been uttered!"

"You are King, Arthur."

"I can't force people to accept something they have feared for so long merely by ordering it. Even if I repealed the ban tomorrow, prejudice cannot be ignored. They would still be hunted. We cannot tell anyone. I will not see people die for possession of a natural skill I would bet my life fewer than a third know they hold. I am **not** my father, I **never** agreed with his edicts regarding the children." He said it fiercely as if he thought Gwen might disagree with him. She had been hurt by magic before with both her father and Morgana.

Gwen studied him, such passion, and she wondered if he realised he had called it a "natural skill". It was as if he now recognized their abilities as something out of their control, compared such a talent to something as common as breathing or being able to walk, unconscious and automatic. It was as if he now believed they were no different than any of them. She couldn't think Uther would have ever seen them as such. "You are a far better man than your father could ever have hoped to be. You see people in a way he never did. I cannot fault you for following your heart, Arthur. You've proven you have a good one." She had placed one hand on his chest as she had been speaking, the warmth of her hand seeping through the thin layers of court garb and making him very aware of her being so near.

"I do not think I am following my heart. I'm not even sure what my heart is telling me. I feel like I'm in a maze, logic does not seem to hold any sway in it. My thoughts, they keep going in circles, leading me down dead ends, doubling back on themselves. I do not think I've been this unsure of myself since I first took the crown."

"And that is one of the reasons I love you." Arthur looked askance at his wife, sure now she had surely lost her wits.

"You **wanted** to marry an unsure king?" Gwen's tinkling laugh rang out and the blistering heat of her hands was back.

"No. But I did want a man who can question and not blindly leap on the first thing that comes to mind." His mind stuttered slightly at the faith she had. He knew for a fact he had not behaved that way with the ugly affair of Lancelot's return, but he now knew for a certainty his love had forgiven him for it. She would not have given him such praise if she had been at all uncertain. And there had been other times, though those transgressions were quickly slipping into the nether, and his brain had too much distracting him just then to immediately recall such times. Her hands had moved under his shirt, caressing the skin of his back as she moved even closer, and he wondered idly if it was entirely proper in front of sixty-three witnesses, even if they were completely unaware. "Who is compassionate and caring in any circumstance, and can admit his mistakes and work toward restitution for them."

The hands slid further and his breath hitched slightly, pleasure coiling with every delicate trace over his now far too hot skin. The lavender scent she favoured curled round his nostrils and he breathed deep. It was not a good idea for them to be here he suddenly decided, since he desperately wanted his wife's roving fingers to continue so he could see just where she was leading him. And then abruptly she and her delightful hands were gone with a playful pat on his behind that echoed what he had given her a few hours ago. "Even if he is a prat on occasion."

Had the woman been teasing him? Mercy! His face flamed like it hadn't since he'd been properly kissed for the first time age fourteen by Lady Porthwhistle's beautiful, but by all accounts, gold-digging niece. "Don't you have somewhere to be, my Lord?"

Yes. No. He wasn't sure any more, his intellect had been reduced to a gibbering wreck in the space of minutes. Why did he keep thinking **he** was the one running this kingdom?


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N Here is another chapter and oh look it's only taken me since...err...January! *Looks on horrified* Oops! What can I say except I am heartily sorry. I had issues. One of which was the almost loss of everything, due to my clumsy attempts at juggling, whilst trying to talk to the kids and carry everything down the stairs, resulting in a broken laptop needing emergency surgery! Luckily all is not lost but it was a bit hairy for a while.**

 **Many thanks once again go to Doberler for not only her patience and understanding when her own edited chapters were thought to be nothing more than scrambled bits of file on a broken hard drive, but also for editing and also adding this extra Arwen scene, she writes romance like no one else I know. Thank you my friend.**

* * *

Screaming

Chapter 7.

The knights could be heard all the way down the other end of the corridor, so loud was the ribbing they were affording their latest victim. There was nothing quite like a room full of boisterous knights, even in the midst of crisis, for teasing, hazing and horseplay, that could quite easily get out of hand.

He hurried a little faster, catching up to the serving staff hauling the evening meal he'd requested, just before they reached the guards stationed at either side of the double doors of the new council chambers. They made to announce him and he shushed them with a gesture.

The large studded oak doors were open and Arthur paused at the threshold just observing his men. Even in the darkest hours they still managed to pull every minute increment of enjoyment from life. They had to, their lives were fraught with danger and it was rare for any of them to actually reach an age old enough to retire from active duty. As knights they had to come to terms with the fact they would probably die young. Arthur had to come to terms with it, too. He knew these men, inside and out. He knew how they thought, how they acted and how they felt was always linked to their knowledge of their own mortality.

It was how Merlin acted, how had he never seen that? That goofy grin hid a multitude of hurts. All those times he had seen the pain hidden deep within and had never known the cause. Had never been able to extract any rationalization for it, nor assign any grounds to the inexplicably fraught silences seen only in those fleeting moments Merlin believed all eyes to have dispersed away from him.

His three knights, now laid alongside the rest of his people had also seemed isolated, reticent even, not sharing in the laughter as much and always seeming more serious than the usual. He'd just put it down to their particular personalities, just three men out of an entire contingent, there had to have been some with a different mental makeup. But now, armed with his new knowledge it made far too much sense.

Had they known each other's secrets? He tried to recall who their friends were, who they went drinking and relaxing with but couldn't seem to remember anyone. Had it been deliberate? They knew they had magic and made sure if they were ever found they would not take their fellows with them to the pyre? Had deliberately kept their heads down and never sought the kind of exalted glory within the ranks their counterparts were rather famous for?

It must have been such a delicate balancing act, to seem almost like their fellows in temperament and outlook to avoid suspicion, but without the prideful arrogance characteristic to the breed. To stay away from anything that might garner them the slightest amount of unwanted attention, keep their heads down in sombre duty and give up the relative freedom they could have found elsewhere. He couldn't envisage his being able to do so, nor even most of his other knights.

He could imagine Merlin had actually had an easier time, being a servant and out of the public eye as much as was possible, more than they could ever be really. When he was the personal manservant of the Crown Prince and then King, they were the highest stations within the serving ranks but he'd never been classed as important enough to be noteworthy, servants may be seen occasionally, but never heard.

And though Merlin had been involved in many victories, his name had been kept out of it. God forbid a servant should outmatch Camelot's finest! No, fame and fortune for his deeds had never seemed important to the man and Arthur had admired him in an abstract way for it. In fact, his heroics had become so commonplace, the issue of his not taking any credit and his easy going nature had to a great extent been taken advantage of. He had in a word been overlooked. Even then, it must have been a somewhat dicey situation, working for the man who would be honour bound to turn him over if he should ever see the means by which he helped out. He was, after all, in his company every single day, was closer than any other man, in fact, and had been for years.

Those four men had all been employed by the crown in positions of great trust and responsibility, some for even longer than Merlin's nine years of service, and had never once turned against them. If they had, he was damned sure he would not be here now and the kingdom would now be either decimated or ruled by someone else, someone more sympathetic to magic. And he could also tell that person would not be Morgana.

They held no love at all for her policies, and had all stood firm against her even as others fell under her charismatic spell, he knew that much at least. They had all seemed more vitriolic about her methods and her fall from grace than any other. Now he could perhaps see why.

How had they been spared her particular brand of hate? They had just as much reason to turn against them all as she had, perhaps more, since she had been the pampered ward of his father and he couldn't see Uther killing her no matter her faults. She was after all his own daughter, an unacknowledged one yes but still cared for even so.

And then he remembered, dark bruises around wrists and throat. An uncharacteristically subdued Morgana drifting pale and quiet through the halls for days after speaking out once too many times. And he acknowledged that yes maybe she did have reason to think she would never be heard above the scream of insanity the word **magic** engendered within his father's mind, the scream that would signal her death knell. But if she would be kindling for the fire and had turned so bitter and vengeful as a result, why had these four specifically not succumbed to the allure of ridding themselves of Uther's threat when they had been so close as to do it with hardly a thought?

They never had and that alone showed him that not every magic user in the kingdom was out to get them, add in the rest of his subjects laying in the hall and he gained a picture of people just trying to fit in, to find a place they belonged and get on with life in spite of being told they were evil and worthless, just like everyone else. And yet they did so in the full knowledge they would never be seen, would never be acknowledged, and would burn if they ever dared show any talent in the art of sorcery. His father had caused a civil war and he had pursued the same goal, mindlessly, and without thinking of any consequence. Just what had they all done to their own people?

He was ashamed to call himself Pendragon to be honest. And Morgana? Morgana had good reason to be bitter, having magic and being Uther's bastard daughter. He now wondered how and why the knights and his servant had not gone the same route, joined her in her bid for freedom, and taken them all down to hell for the nightmare their lives had become.

How did the kingdom ever deserve such loyalty if such was the case? They had done nothing to earn it, but it hadn't seemed to matter to them. They had donned the cloak and mail regardless and done their duty as they saw fit, protecting those who would otherwise never thank them.

It would fall to him, to his duty and his honour to acknowledge such dedication. He just had no clue **how** to pull off such a feat that would not signal yet more conflict between his countrymen.

He needed to speak to them all. Surely, they had some idea of what they could all do to allow for a peaceful coexistence since they all seemed to have more idea of how to do that than the rest of his citizens. But that would have to come later, when they had brought them out of this magic-induced stupor and given them back their reason. Now he still had to prepare for their departure and that meant orders. Without further ado, he stepped into the chamber and all eyes turned in his direction, as the ribbing of his newest knight ceased abruptly.

The regal nod was ingrained as he returned theirs though it was never necessary amongst his knights. "As you were, gentlemen." The knights scrambled for their chairs looking nothing more than reprimanded children, shamefaced and blushing. Arthur couldn't help but be amused for the barest of moments as he, too, took his seat.

"I'm sure you are all wondering why I have called this meeting, especially considering several of you were present for the earlier council session. Just to be clear gentlemen the council have not been told the whole matter." Careful glances made the rounds between the men, and Arthur could hazard a guess they had been discussing the same subject amongst themselves long before his appearance.

"And you are trusting us now, sire?" Arthur's eyes met those of Sir Brennic. Old guard, one of his father's but loyal to the hilt, though less vocal in his father's time.

"What I need to say is more a military matter, not something the council needs to be aware of at this time." More looks exchanged between the men, especially by those present at the council meeting earlier.

"I'm sorry, my lord, I don't quite follow. How is this a military matter?"

"It has been brought to my attention that the people targeted by this mysterious phenomenon are potentially those who might be essential in a conflict and that an enemy may be using them to gain the upper hand in an upcoming battle. Even as I remain rather sceptical about such a motivation, I will not leave anything to chance. Whilst I and a select group make the journey for the recovery of our people, I need the city fortifying in case there is any substance to these speculations." More surreptitious glances swept the room this time, ones of relief. Although it could be said that any battle was not something to be anticipated with any degree of joy, at least these men now had something to focus on and a possible explanation for the Fallen.

Mystery and the unknown were never good bedfellows for such practically minded men and not having any explanation as to why everyone just collapsed had made the tensions within the citadel build exponentially. Those tensions, that stress, now had an outlet, and the rest of the meeting was spent in planning, assigning work details, and delegating duties to the various knights.

It came as no surprise when the two-hour long conference was winding to a close and the only people not given posts within the city itself were what Arthur always dubbed the Round Table. It was an unstated but well-known fact these were the men Arthur would always pick to go with him on any outbound quest. No matter that Sir Leon, as Arthur's First Knight, would traditionally stay and oversee the defences. Arthur had already broken so many traditions in his short reign it had come as no shock that the older knight, Sir Anwhn, was given the delicate task instead.

"Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, and Leon, you're with me. I need you to find out who the volunteers are from amongst the families to look after and drive the carts of the Fallen. They know they need to choose and are working it out between themselves.

Elyan, will we be ready for tomorrow morning? We need to get them to help as soon as possible. There is no telling how long they have left before they start to deteriorate."

"We should be ready, Arthur, if we work through the night."

"I'll make sure there are plenty to help. Anyone who assists tonight will be rewarded as per their contribution."

"I need to supervise the outfitting but if you'll allow, I'm sure there's room in one of them for me to get a little rest." Arthur sent him a look of both gratitude and amusement.

"Done!"

"Then with your leave, I'll see to it?"

"Go, Elyan, and thank you. I think we are just about finished here anyway. Gentlemen?"

Nods and murmurs of ascent all around concluded the gathering and all left in a better frame of mind to their various tasks. Arthur debated with himself whether to tell his chosen men of the suspected magic now or later once they had set off. In the end, the thought of any form of procrastination was simply too tempting under the circumstances, plus he really didn't want to hold such a delicate and potentially explosive conversation where the walls had too many ears. The woods it would have to be and hope they didn't have too much dissent on their hands when it all came to light.

He left for his chambers weighed down with the true enormity of what they were undertaking and feeling twice as old as he had just that morning.

* * *

It came as no surprise that Guinevere was waiting for him when he stepped through his chamber doors and suddenly his guilt for leaving her to dine alone again, the evidence of one serving still on the table, left him even wearier. She deserved better, and he should give her more. They would be apart again and for much longer than his last mission this time. He'd only been back from the Druid encampment a day at best and that had been filled with councils, counsellors, and nonstop preparation for yet another departure.

He was leaving her alone again.

But she knew him, knew what came first during a crisis, knew where his attention was needed to truly focus. She could always anticipate his needs long before he knew of them himself. She knew the kingdom always came first, that she must stand aside and be second at times and he hated that she felt that way, that it was even needful. He adored her, cherished her with equal fervour to this damned kingdom, more perhaps than even his subjects, but they were his to protect. They were his to care for, to nurture, and to love even. More so now than ever before.

They were hers too, her sacrifices not unnoticed by him, her willingness to accept his duty and long absences with strength and grace, her only admonishments on the dangers he faced and the prospects of losing him. His safety was her utmost concern every time. He was precious to her.

Arthur could only stare at her as he took a deep breath, a smile on his lips and adoration in his eyes. Scented oils filled his nostrils, frankincense and lavender he was sure, the aroma alone practically shedding the tension from his body, the long anticipated promise of the soothing touch and much-needed embrace of the woman he loved. He came toward her and she helped to close the distance with a saunter and sway of her hips. His wife was a teasing minx when out of the public eye and he loved every naughty inch.

"Gwen."

"Shhhh…" She also knew his weaknesses. Sometimes, he wanted to be ordered about, to give up the duty and leave someone else in charge, even if only in the intimate privacy of their shared bedchamber.

She did not say a word as she removed his belt, outer tunic and boots, all the while meeting his eyes with desirous provocative glances every now and again. She took her time, deliberately dragging it out in sensuous torture, Arthur catching a whiff of her hair as she leaned closer, as she brushed against him, each of her actions causing his body to react, blood coursing through every vein. All he could hear was his heartbeat whooshing rhythmically and his hitching breaths.

With the outer layers discarded, she slowly removed his undershirt, her fingers sometimes taking a moment to admire a scar or two. She kissed the one where the dragon had sunk its claw into his shoulder when he'd tried to outrun it to save her. Arthur dipped his head to kiss Gwen, but she glided away from him with a scorching smile as she removed her evening robe, the white satin nightgown hugging places that he wanted to—hug. He swallowed hastily in a mouth gone suddenly dry.

Her hair hung loose down her shoulders, the curls free of braids and wild, untamed, the dignified queen still slightly in evidence but her fiery passion now rising to the fore. She stretched her hand out to him in silent invitation and he walked to her in euphoric stupor, he knew it, and he didn't care. These were the moments he could shed his kingly persona and just be a man with his beautiful wife.

He hadn't even noticed the tub of steaming water, his senses already filled overwhelmingly with Guinevere until his breeches were removed and she was guiding him to it. He didn't want the bath and stopped her progress with a quick twist of his wrist to bring her into his arms. Her gasp of surprise was swallowed by his kiss, slow but deliberate at first, then hungry and passionate as her arms wrapped his neck and her fingers entwined in his silk, smooth golden hair. He could feel every part of her through the sheer fabric and his grip coiled around her even tighter. It wasn't enough though. What she had started now threatened to consume him in a flaming conflagration of want and need. Guinevere trembled in his arms, clearly feeling the same.

He broke the kiss and lifted her into his arms. "Come here, my lady." His voice was raspy and deep with desire, his blue eyes darker than ever.

"Arthur, your bath…" It was silly and futile at this point, she knew, but she said it anyway. Her grand plans to be attentive to him first interrupted in the best of ways.

"Later." For the rest of the evening, he let everything else melt away, and it was just the two of them.

For a time, nothing else mattered.

* * *

Morning brought clouds scudding swiftly across the blue, though the air was still warm enough they didn't fear the rain that may have accompanied them. All was still chaotic out in the courtyard, more so now they had horses hitched to the braces. Sleepy-eyed castle staff set the finishing touches to their arrangements and Elyan already tucked up asleep despite the din in a bedroll on top of the folded canvas of the tents, his horse standing patiently behind the same cart, bridle already tied to its backboard.

Arthur took one look at him and shook his head. That man could sleep practically anywhere and through just about anything. It wouldn't surprise him if he managed to stay asleep all the way through their departure.

They had at least three days of travel between them and their destination, carts being considerably slower than just horses could manage. With any luck, they would see no trouble along the way and arrive in good time. He both dreaded and blessed the delay. He needed to talk to them all, Merlin especially, but the days they would be away would bring their own problems with too much time to think, to dwell and to deal with a mass of relatives who may or may not be aware of their loved ones' secrets. He could not imagine the pain they might endure at being told of it, and no less from a monarch they had every reason to believe would put them to death for their supposed crimes against the crown.

And there was the rub. Holding magic was a crime, and yet the three-year-old now just being laid down tenderly by an anxious mother amongst a cart of other children could be considered in no way a criminal to his own mind. How had he overlooked such a fundamental flaw in his father's reasoning? In his own? They, as a kingdom, had made these people criminals and he was expected to punish them for it. He could not do that to them, not and keep his honour intact. He hoped when he explained this to the parents, wives, husbands, sons now sitting on the driver's seats that he could convey how deeply this had affected him, tell them they had nothing to fear and have them believe it.

They were all finally ready. The last of the preparations having taken place as he was lost in his reverie. And with one last long lingering kiss to his beloved Guinevere, many admonishments on both parts to be careful and keep safe, he swung into the saddle and made the signal to depart.

This journey felt so much tenser than the last. There was such a feeling in the air of something huge building. He couldn't put a name to it, couldn't decide if it would prove monstrous or perhaps the best thing to ever happen to the kingdom. But either way, change was coming, and it would mayhap be up to him as to what form it would take.

Despite the company of well over eighty people, and the last glimpses of the streets thronged with his citizens to see them off, he'd never felt so alone than in that moment.

If only he could bottle last night and take it with him…


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N Ok so here we have another chapter of Screaming and though it did take longer to get this out it wasn't quite as long as the previous period of not hearing from me. And even better news I have the half the next chapter written so hopefully if the rest of it doesn't suddenly seize up on me you should have that one fairly soon too.**

 **I do own Merlin...in an alternate reality that the BBC don't want anyone to know about. Sadly in this life...I don't!**

 **...**

Screaming

Chapter 8

The weather had been perfect. This first leg of the journey running smoothly with the roads in good condition, they had all opted to eat in the saddle and go as far as possible before stopping to make the first camp. There was a covered bucket of water in each of the carts along with an attendant to see to the needs of the victims, little as those needs were. They had made exceptional progress by the time they eventually did make camp. Such good fortune at the start of their journey should have left them in a jovial mood. Unfortunately, such was not the case.

Something had been building in their young king's mind all day. The knights could see it. Even the small number of relatives who didn't know the king could see the agitation simmering just under his skin. It leant a nervous energy to the group that affected the horses and oxen, leaving them skittish, restless in their traces and difficult to control easily.

Most assumed it was the whole trip, all this fuss and bother over a few citizens. It made the atmosphere slightly uncomfortable all around. They were grateful, though that was possibly too mild a word for the full depths of their feelings. It was more like awe. They were after all fully cognizant of the fact that Uther never would have gone to so much trouble over a malady mostly relegated to the peasantry. The nine nobles and three knights amongst them would have been his main focus, a cure for the rest a merely incidental detail. But Arthur had treated them all the same. Not counting any one more important than the others, and showing it in his every action.

Arthur seemed to be ignoring the hero worship it had engendered for the most part, lost in his own reverie. But it was there, almost tangible, and Arthur's strange mood helped not at all.

The knights hit closer to the mark when they all looked between the king and the small cart holding Gaius and Merlin packed in between two swarthy farmers toward the middle of the cavalcade. They could all guess at what the sight of their youngest companion laid out there in the straw rather than up front bantering with the king was doing to the monarch. They were all feeling it to a certain degree.

But in the end they were all wrong, rather far out in their assumptions, in fact. A fact that became very much evident when the camp had been firmly established for a good long while, and everyone had now eaten their fill of the bread, cheese, and apples packed so carefully into the supply cart.

The fires had slowly become their main source of light as the sun sank, slowly waning into the deepening twilight. The knights had divided the watches between themselves and several of their party had already rolled out their blankets ready to call it a night when the king, completely withdrawn up to this point, suddenly shook himself as if to wake from some dream and made a quiet request for all of them to remain.

"Please. Stay a moment. There is something we need to discuss now we are away from the prying eyes of the city." Every one of them was instantly curious, reseating themselves in the clusters they had formed around their own individual fire pit.

"I want you all to remember that I have the very best interests of my people in mind at all times. This…" He waved his arm out toward the carts, clearly trying to find a suitable description. "…condition is not something we can fight with normal means and I hope you will support the decision we have made… **I** have made. One in which I tell you we are not only on our way to Nemeth, but to a Druid camp just on the border between the two realms."

Stunned silence greeted his words for all of two seconds after his announcement, and then blinding smiles appeared on some faces and deep frowns on others. Several nods were directed at the king as if they had been merely confirming something within their own minds. It confused the monarch since they were usually accompanied by the smiles and a look of deepest relief. He wondered if that was due to his decision to seek out the Druids' help or if there was something more to it. He didn't have a chance to ponder long since the first comments voiced were the protests.

"Sire, with all due respect," a commoner began, "why would you do this? Why would you trust them? They have magic and magic is what caused this malady to begin with." The young man asking was the eldest son of one of the village leaders now laid out beside his other son, a teenage boy not yet old enough for his majority. Arthur could tell he was also used to being in charge in whatever small backwoods settlement they came from. His manner of dress was slightly better than the average peasant and he spoke more eloquently and with the confidence of one used to command. This man obviously had access to some form of education not generally available and fancied himself cock of the walk because of it.

"Have the Druids ever harmed us? Since they were granted the freedom to roam Camelot as they pleased, have they ever turned on us? No. They have gone about their own business discreetly, helped the injured if asked, and acted just as any other citizen of our kingdom would."

The king sat back as if he had just won a great argument, but the man just looked blank, glancing round at his fellows for help. He deflated a little at the understanding dawning across the others' faces, but not to be outdone, he carried on with a stubborn intractability that threatened to grate on Arthur's nerves if it carried on much longer.

"They could have been the ones to do this since, as you say, they do now have more access to the city and villages."

"What would they gain from it? What would be their ultimate goal to strike down children, farmers and in so large an area? No, this…this is something else." Arthur was trying very hard to be patient with the lout in front of him when all he really wanted to do was shout and ram the facts down the young man's throat. But in the end, it would do nothing but harm. This was not an easy thing to say and it had to be handled with the gentlest of touches. All his diplomatic skills being utilised now just to talk to the peasantry, his father would have seen it as a waste of his time and resources, where Arthur viewed it as the very first steps toward the kingdom he had dreamed of.

"So, who did this if not those with magic?"

"The Druids are a peaceful people, but as you say, they are not the only ones with magic." The young man sensing a weakness he could utilise within the argument opened his mouth to continue his line of reasoning, but Arthur forestalled him. It was time for some home truths to finally be told. "Magic may have caused this, but it was not someone **with** magic who did it. They couldn't have without being caught up in the web themselves."

The people looked around at each other in obvious confusion. _What did he mean?_ Even the knights, who had looked on in fascination at their king debating with a peasant about topics they believed he would normally condemn out of hand, and knew more of the circumstances than the commoners around them were puzzled.

"I don't understand." This was it: the moment Arthur had dreaded all through the long day and yet, now that it had arrived, all he could feel was a sense of purpose. A sense that this was supposed to happen and everything from here on out was incidental, not to be feared, but embraced.

"There is a very real possibility that all those who fell…were affected by an object crafted to contain those who…possess the gift of magic." The bluntness of the statement, though levelled with calm, seemed to add to the sheer disbelieving silence held within the circle of people.

When his words finally seemed to register, there were small sounds of distress and hasty movement toward the carts where their loved ones lay vulnerable, as if he were going to take up his sword then and there and start the executions. Arthur's heart stuttered, close to breaking at their reaction. Is this the kingdom he had come to rule? A realm where his people still feared their sovereign. Had he not shown enough tolerance?

He stood abruptly, realising just a second too late that this action would just exacerbate their terror and he made no more movement save to hold up a hand in supplication. "I am not going to harm them. You have my word. They have done nothing wrong."

"' _Nothing wrong!'_ If you are right, they have committed treason, _sire_ ," said as if to remind the king of his place and his duty. "How is that doing no wrong?" That same young man with his righteous zeal was looking toward his own relatives with disgust written clearly on his face. It hit Arthur more forcefully than the earlier reactions that here was the full measure of the cancer his kingdom had harboured and allowed to grow unchecked. It could tear families apart. Brother turn on brother, son against father, and rip the peace asunder. His throat seized.

No more.

Arthur walked toward the man slowly, cautiously, his movements unhurried but with the confidence instilled within him since birth, the confidence of a king, until he found himself face to face with the peasant, not in a threatening way, but of one who truly accepts his cause as right and just and as a plea for the other to understand. "Because I believe most of those now lying here did not even know they held it. How then could they have chosen to wield it for evil means if they had never known it was there? And the rest…well, they have been with us for years and yet they have never moved against us."

Leon's face was a picture of flabbergasted curiosity and astonishment. "Merlin… Sire? How…? Um-" The normally eloquent Sir Leon reduced to a stuttering wreck might have been funny in other circumstances, but this was something so very serious there was no time for hilarity.

"Think back over all our adventures together." Arthur looked upon his first knight standing only yards away with a smile that told him without words, he knew exactly what he was going through. An all-knowing glint appeared in his eyes, as he crossed the short distance to grip his arm in a brotherly gesture. "Hear me now. Have you never wondered how we survived so many encounters with the enemy where the odds were so far out of our favour there should have been no way to win?" The king didn't wait for an answer. "Think of all those patrols attacked by mercenaries, bandits, magical creatures that we somehow miraculously defeated, despite Gaius's assurance we needed magic to do so. Or we escaped with no reason to believe we should have." He pointed up into the leafy canopy above their heads, making yet another point.

"How many perfectly healthy branches suddenly snapped just when the tide was turning away from us?" He threw a glance at Elyan who shifted uncomfortably, an expression on his face he could not interpret but didn't seem to include either fear or anger. More like concentration, as if he were trying to figure out a particularly tricky puzzle. "How did Merlin come out of every single one without even a scratch even in the thick of the action but without a lick of armour? And where was he throughout most of those encounters but hidden behind a tree in the perfect position to aid us from a distance."

His voice was gentle and coaxing tinged with awe, a tone the knights had never heard from Arthur before in relation to his manservant nor the now-obvious use of his magic. Arthur had been thinking long and hard about every single threat the kingdom had been through and both sides of magic had been stamped all over them. They had just been oblivious to the good since the bad had overshadowed all.

"Did you never notice that our armourer, Carle, could always fix anything, no matter how badly we abused it, and worked ten times better once he had his hands on it." He then gestured toward the youngest of his knights, in amongst his more bulky looking fellows. "Sir James always volunteered for the most dangerous missions. My father used him as an infiltrator on more than one occasion, two of which were supposedly suicide missions, and yet he always survived. I thought he just seemed to thrive on danger." Another turn and a gesture now back again toward Merlin and his adoptive father, his voice dripping with enthusiasm for those who knew him enough to detect it.

"Gaius! Gaius had magic before the purge, giving up the practice of it at my father's request. My father disclosed that much to me **and** admitted he was a trusted member of the court despite it. He's been our physician for decades; if he wanted us dead, be sure we would be!" The knights stood looking over at a king they hardly recognised. A man in the midst of a revelation, and what a revelation! It was hard to take in, that Arthur had figured so much out in so short a time and they wondered at themselves for not seeing what made so much sense when he pointed it out.

Leon finally found his voice, clearing his throat when it came out as a mere croak on the first attempt. "This is what the Druids were leaving out of their story?" Arthur merely nodded and Leon carried on as if thinking aloud. "This is why they thought we were behind it? They must have thought we were rounding up all those left within the kingdom just to be rid of them." The First Knight shook his head at the sheer enormity of it, looking at the king through eyes newly opened to the possibilities. "But you aren't, are you? There is no threat to be removed and so you are helping them to recover instead. You don't intend to leave them with the Druids when we find the disc. You **want** them to return to Camelot!"

"It is their home, Leon. I spent a little time…" The laugh that emerged was short and sharp. "A **very** little time researching after it hit me what they'd been hinting at and found that those who are attuned to those forces do not necessarily seek it and once they have it cannot get rid of the magic within even if they do not use it. This is why my father killed the children of known magic users. They could inherit the ability and never realise their potential."

The king looked up at the faces of those stood near the carts full of youngsters, appealing to those parents most of all. "It was a practice I never agreed with. I tried to stop such barbarity when I could and was not usually successful against the vehemence of my father, though that hardly excuses my own actions, of which there are no words that could ever pardon me."

Arthur paused to let those thoughts sink in, hoping he could get his point across and very much aware he was close to begging for understanding, for their pardon. If it came to it at this point, he would do anything to stop this needless bloodshed, including begging on bended knee. He had already done so once, after all.

"We have had help through every single conflict we have faced for years, and yet we never saw any of it because we made it impossible. **WE** made it impossible. My father may have laid down the law, but we as a nation enforced it by blindly following his edicts or looking the other way, sometimes both. We have caused a civil war in the name of peace and brought about exactly the opposite. I will no longer stand by and be responsible for the deaths of the innocent. So long as they do not harm anyone, those with magic can live their lives in peace."

He hadn't meant to say that aside, and from the people's reaction they hadn't expected him to either if the widened eyes and sheet white faces were anything to go by. Glancing toward his knights, they had a similar reaction, though Gwaine was actually grinning from ear to ear and nodding at him as if his neck were on a spring.

The king had as good as repealed the ban right there, which was not what he had been aiming for at all. The confrontation had just seemed to pull the words from his conscience and now they had been said, he marvelled at how right they sounded. Yes, this was what was needful. Looking out toward the circle of carts, the relatives arrayed in front of him and the relief he felt mirrored back from the dozens of faces, he realised here was the kingdom he would have, one where every man was of worth and had a place to call their own without fear.

Even the young man's face held a note of relief along with the guilt, as if the denunciation of his family had been a reaction to protect himself, an act of stepping back and disassociation in order to survive but not without tearing himself apart whilst doing so. He was not the only one who had done the same over time, Arthur was sure of that, and in his heart he understood their fear. He would make an effort on this journey to get to know the man's name, to know them all. Find out their stories and piece together their lives. It would go some way toward helping him draft the new laws they would need for the regulation of magic and give him real life examples to use when he confronted his council once the issue of the disc was resolved.

…..

The days after Arthur's disclosure were far more jovial than had been seen in a long time. Every single relative made a point to seek out the king and personally thank him. He grew weary of the attention but never turned them away. He understood their need and welcomed the fact they had not turned on their own nor on him for mistakes of the past.

The profuse gratitude waned by the end of the second day, but the people had accepted the king as one of their own, talking to him as if he were a commoner and not their majesty, an honoured member of their family even; their respect genuine and not forced as he had seen so often when the peasantry had been introduced to his father. Just for that alone, Arthur believed his words had been worth it.

And just as he had promised himself, he learned their stories, their lives creating a picture of his kingdom he had never seen before. It made the journey seem quicker, less tedious and even the trail rations and rough camps could not dampen their spirits, nor the rain that showed up on the third afternoon and slowed their progress to only slightly better than a crawl.

The fourth day out of Camelot saw them nearing journey's end at last, and they pulled the carts up in a tiny clearing barely big enough to hold them all.

Arthur blessed whosoever had the forethought to pack stretcher poles and fabric into the carts since this was the last leg of the journey through the trees and the trail from this point was far too meagre a width for all but the narrowest hand carts to pass. It would be another major operation to transport his people over the root-strewn terrain and into the Druid camp proper, but he held out hope the Druids would come and help. If only because they were kin of a sort and would need to be 'rescued' from his terrible clutches. If only they knew the somersaults his mind had been turning over these last days they would be entirely surprised at the results.

Leaving Leon in charge, most of the people with the main body of the cavalcade already making up the stretchers, distributing a little food and water whilst they waited, he made his way onward with just Gwaine and Elyan. The Druid camp had more life to it this time as they stepped through the last line of concealing trees, everyone freezing where they stood and looking on with hesitant nervous fear.

At the sight of only three of them, without weapons and seeming as unsure as they, the Druids relaxed marginally and warily went back to whatever activity they had been engaged in previously, with only surreptitious paranoid glances periodically thrown over their shoulders to show how shaken they all still were at their sudden appearance.

The man they had first met with previously greeted them at the edge of the camp, coming up behind the party so they had to whirl round to confront them as they emerged like ghosts through the trees. He seemed to regard them with a little less suspicion this time around but that air of weary resignation still clung to him, and the few other Druids standing with him looked, if anything, even more reluctant to be there.

Fendril, that was the Druid's name, Arthur remembered that Iseldir had mentioned it when they were here before. "There is no need to come all the way into the main camp with us, King Arthur. If you wish to sort your people and the supplies, we shall bring them in."

Although it was said with such a mild air, Arthur was struck by a sudden thought that here they were trying to conceal things from him yet again, and it seemed almost like a challenge. There was intensity in the way Fendril held himself that just screamed out a warning, making him think the offer was only to get rid of them. He could not help but think it was so their magic could be concealed as long as humanly possible. If such was the case, he needed to be there. His suspicions would count for naught without proof, utterly convinced though he was in his own mind.

"I will stay with them." Nothing else needed saying, his own counter challenge issued and with a slight hesitation and a dignified dip of his head, the Druid conceded this first round and turned on his heel.

"As you wish. Will you show us the way to them?"

Was that a note of desperation he could detect in the man's voice thrown, oh so casually, over his shoulder as he walked away or was it merely his own imaginings taking flight because of the knowledge he believed he held? Either way, he would not be parted from them and the Druids could make of it what they will.

The returning party held twelve strong looking Druids, the leader and themselves. Hopefully, it would make the transfer a swifter and smoother affair for them all to work together. Now, he just needed to convince his own men to do the same.

…..

There had been much debate over who should be taken in first, since there were so many Fallen, they would need to make several trips even with the extra help. Getting everyone to work to common purpose had not been the problem Arthur had thought it would be. His subjects surprised him yet again with their willingness to embrace the presence of the Druids and welcome them politely, if not entirely enthusiastically, on everyone's part.

Taking a step further on the road to equality, Arthur firmly put his foot down, and apart from those children young enough to be carried by a parent who would definitely be in the first group, the others would be decided by drawing lots as to who should be taken when the arguments over precedence looked as if they were turning violent. Such an idiotic thing to squabble over.

There were stretchers for ten adults or older children each trip, and so straws were brought out from the bedding and people delegated to draw for those without a relative present. Those who picked the short ones this round would stay in camp for the moment; they would draw again as soon as the first lot had gone so they could prepare those who were next, and so on and so forth. It was the fairest method Arthur could decide upon and most seemed happy with his order.

But he did not take part; close as he was to both Merlin and Gaius, he could not show any favouritism now. It would only spark rumours he would have to quash later when it came time to bring the laws before the council. There must be no hint of any form of gossip that might point toward enchantments, else it could prove disastrous.

Instead, Leon held the straws, Gwaine drawing for Merlin and Percival for Gaius, and though Percy got a short straw, Gwaine ended almost crowing when his proved to be almost the longest in the bunch. Arthur sighed in quiet relief at being able to see Merlin to safety personally, since he would only accompany the first group and then oversee from the other side.

Everything seemed to move more swiftly after, and in very short order they were heading out in a ragged line of plodding bearers with their precious cargo, Arthur and the Druid leader at their head. The tenseness that had gripped the group four days ago elevated to new heights once again as the sea of tents rose up around them. The Druids became ever more nervous as they picked their way carefully between the dwellings and the stream marking the border coming into view.

Arthur glanced at his companion out of the corner of his eye and noted the determined set to his jaw and the rigidity held within his shoulders, staring straight ahead with grim purpose. They had nothing to fear from him but they didn't know that, and it gave him a small sense of guilt to realise he had not reassured them as he ought. It was too late now, they were here.

"Brace yourselves. They will probably move around as soon as they get away from the influence of the disc." The first words the Druid had spoken since leaving their own temporary camp came out harsh, as if said through gritted teeth.

Without a pause and barely a hitch in their step, the front pair of Druids stepped down the shallow incline into the water, and without warning, Merlin's frame shuddered, and then his back arched off the cloth of the stretcher as they moved over the border, as did those of the other three he could see, causing a sudden shift in the balance of the stretcher. The Druids though had obviously expected it since they shifted with the weak thrashing, the first movement each of the victims had made in more than two weeks. Their eyes flared open briefly, and even as he had been expecting something like it, he involuntarily flinched at the glow, like liquid sunshine flashing within every one of their irises.

If he'd ever needed proof, there it was. The gold glint he'd always instinctively shied from. The kind that had always caused terror to take root in his heart before today when seen on the faces of those who wished them harm, and now all those affected were showing signs of it, some weaker than others. The young woman's to his left shone dully, like bronze left unpolished; the little boy to her other side held in his stunned father's arms, a little brighter, but Merlin? He wasn't sure if this was a sign of the strength of the magic they held within or something else, but when he looked at his friend's eyes, there was no doubt he was powerful. His were shining out brighter than he had ever seen it when sorcerers had come to call, and he wasn't sure if that made it more or less hard to bear.

Throughout it all, Merlin lay limply once more, remaining all unaware of such a monumental moment, the moment Arthur finally understood the truth without even a shadow of a doubt.

Arthur's gaze rose to the Druid elder stood waiting on the far bank. The man looked on steadily, the same grim sort of determination in his face as his fellow and merely nodded to the king. A confirmation of sorts, and one Arthur acknowledged with his own brief dip of his head trying to convey with just this that he had figured it out and would in time be fine with it. Iseldir looked mildly startled for just a moment and then his face flooded with compassion and just a touch of pride.

The rest of their people were brought in soon after, willing hands making light work of their valued brethren's transportation. The two command tents of Camelot were set up in next to no time with the Druid's help. All the children were placed in the slightly more weatherproof tents of the Druids themselves, all the women in one of Camelot's and all the men in another. Arthur made sure Merlin and Gaius were together. They were as close as father and son and Arthur could not separate them.

Then all that was left to do was wait, wait until they woke and recovered. Then the messy business of informing them that their secrets were known could be dealt with and hopefully bring them closer to an understanding that the kingdom hadn't known in three long decades.

Arthur held a fool's hope for the changes to come. But even a fool's hope was still just that.

Hope.

…..


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N It has been a while, I know and I must apologise I am writing, pretty much all the free time I get. it's just being divided by all the projects I still have on the go here plus a few new ones I'm hoping to finish before starting to post. Plus it was that time of the year again. Christmas is not so much hectic as a waking nightmare with how busy I get and the launch of two new products which, to my utmost surprise, took of like wildfire didn't help. I was getting orders left right and centre. Well now I'm back and though I can't guarantee when the next will be posted I have half already written. I said that last time I know but I...um...forgot Percy had been sent to Nemeth so I had to write in a whole new scene, then got side tracked with work.**

 **Hope you like even if I still have no claims to my fav wizard.**

 **...**

Screaming.

Chapter 9.

In the moments after Arthur first realised the true connection all the fallen held in common, a full league away Sir Percival was just entering the castle courtyard of Nemeth's rulers. Three green-cloaked knights stood on the shallow stairs leading to the great wooden doors of the main keep and a stable boy scrambled forward with great haste as he wearily dismounted, Arthur's hastily scrawled missive in hand.

"I have a message from King Arthur of Camelot for King Rodor." Percival's voice came out steady and strong despite his exhaustion of travelling fast and hard. He'd ridden until it was too dark to see from the back of a horse and then walked, hand looped around the bridle of his powerful charger until even that had proved too dangerous. Barely sleeping, he'd ridden out again at first light, knowing time was of the essence. Arthur would not stop his forward progress whilst waiting for permission from his allies, having no doubts they would grant it. Nemeth's leaders were kind and compassionate people. That did not, of course, mean he shouldn't take every care to secure it as soon as possible. The sooner it was official, the better.

The middle-aged knight in front nodded, his red hair sprinkled liberally with grey and a distinct air of authority in which Percival felt himself automatically defer to. This man reminded him of Sir Leon and Percival believed this to be Rodor's First Knight.

He led the way through sunlit halls very different to Camelot. Unlike the castle he had come to call home, this was more like a palace. Camelot's halls, though beautiful, were meant to be a testament to the might of its army. The white gold stone left bare in many places, a symbol of its strength, solid and dependable. The wealth of the kingdom was subtly revealed in the many tapestries, banners, and real coloured glass gracing the windows instead of the more common shutters. Nemeth's monarchy, however, had taken an entirely different approach. Decorative coloured plaster, and statues, gold leaf and soaring ceilings lent a delicacy to the surroundings that Camelot would never have. It seemed more feminine somehow, like a great lady dressed in fine silk and jewels. Compared to this elegance, Camelot was a knight, battle scarred yet still standing strong.

At last the maze of corridors ended at double doors of iron bound oak, dark gold with age and highly polished. The green clad guards on either side of the doors opened them without a word and the party was admitted to the throne room.

Three people seated on a slight dais in the midst of the hall, an even larger space than the one in Camelot, a place meant to awe those who stood before royalty, to both intimidate enemies and give a feeling of safety to the subjects they were bound by honour to protect.

Just like her father's palace Mithian was beautiful, the only one of the three he knew. Seeing her sitting there surrounded by such grand splendour she seemed more delicate, exotic, regal and both shouting out their pedigree for all who gazed upon them to see. The palace suited the princess, as if it had been designed specifically to showcase her beauty.

She sat on a smaller, though no less ornate, chair proudly to the left of her father, King Rodor. A man Percival had never met but had heard was a kind-hearted and fair ruler, and though nearing the middle of his sixth decade of life, the knight never once assumed his reign was anything less than strong. On Percival's approach he stood from his own throne with dignity, head tilted proudly bearing the burden of leadership with ease. To his right a boy of no more than sixteen summers fidgeted slightly. This must be Rodor's heir, Prince Rhodri, a young man conceived in the king's twilight years with his second wife, a much younger woman who, he'd been told, tragically died only a few years after her son was born.

All this he had found out on Mithian's few visits to Camelot. He had always regarded her as the consummate princess. Even in the face of such thorough disappointment on her first sojourn in his fair city when her marriage prospects had been so utterly shattered, she had still found the courage to wish her former suitor well and send her sincere regards for a happy union to Camelot's new Queen upon their marriage. Gwen and she had become fast friends with no sign of any rivalry for the king's affections. Indeed, she had proven herself as a true friend of Camelot. Percival would be forever grateful to her for taking Gwen, whom he regarded as a sister, under her wing. It had eased her somewhat difficult transition from former serving maid to ruler, second only to the king. Mithian had fast become his friend as well.

It was therefore with great confidence he strode toward the throne and the small party of guards and servants rounding it, stopping just shy and giving the short bow he'd been taught as a show of respect from a knight visiting the ruler of another kingdom.

Rodor's nod was regal, but the smile he gave was warm as he glanced between his daughter's obvious delight, her eyes lit up at seeing just who had come, and he wondered the cause of such happiness. "Sir...?"

"Percival, my lord."

"Ah yes, Sir Percival, one of Arthur's own. I bid you welcome to Nemeth. I'd like you to meet my son, Rhodri."

Percival bowed his head to the young heir apparent. "My lord." They eyed each other warily, man to boy and vice versa. He had no idea what the young heir saw but after a moment or two he smiled in a genuinely friendly way. It went a long way toward endearing the lad to the older knight, especially since it made his rather ordinary features light up in a way which would make the women flock to him in droves when he was older. He made him think of a younger version of Gwaine, confidence and a devil-may-care attitude waiting at the edges for the unwary lady to fall headlong. .

"He has expressed a great interest in the fighting styles of Camelot's knights; perhaps King Arthur would be open to an exchange program, give our fighting men a chance to cultivate new ideas, techniques, and culture."

"King Arthur also believes in the balance of mind and body, Your Majesty. I'm sure he'll see this as an opportunity that would benefit both our kingdoms."

"Indeed," Rodor replied, amused with his children's fascination with Camelot, Rhodri's eyes now as bright and hopeful as his sister's. "I believe you already know my daughter, Mithian?"

"I do, Your Highness." With a gracious tilt of his head to Mithian, he asked, "How are you, Princess?"

"I am very well, Sir Percival. Tell me, how fares Camelot? To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

"Dire news from King Arthur, Your Majesties. Several of our citizens are in need of medical aid for an illness unlike anything we have dealt with before. Arthur asks for permission to cross into your lands with those who have fallen where they can stay and recover whilst he seeks the object causing it. This letter will explain more." He handed the scroll off to the First Knight who took the few steps to give it to the king.

"An illness?" The slight alarm in the king's voice alerted Percival to the fact he may have made a misstep by calling it such. The sharp look of concern-filled enquiry prompted more information from the knight, the letter unopened in his hand.

"Well, not exactly an illness, sire," Percy clarified, cursing the 'lack of eloquence' Leon had been telling him was not acceptable in a knight. Gwaine and he had scoffed at the snobbery, but he had to admit it would have made this trip a little easier. He resolved to listen more closely from now on when Leon decided to give them one of his 'lessons'. "It doesn't spread from person to person. All those who fell did so at the same time and no one else has fallen since. Those who are affected have been so for near two weeks with no ill effects we can see despite not taking any food or even water in all that time. We know it was caused by something… magical."

"A magical malady indeed!" Rodor breathed with mild exclamation. "And how did your king know just what had caused it and how to counter this curse? Camelot is not known for its awareness of magical matters." That was more than a hint of accusation he heard in the king's voice, but more training from Leon and his inherent mild manner enabled him to take a few hard hits even for the honour of his king. Rodor was royalty after all, and they could say what they like about one another, insult or otherwise in the privacy of their own castle.

Mithian had risen from her chair by then, standing alongside the king. "Father, I believe Gaius, the court physician, to be well versed on the subject." She placed her hand on her father's arm in entreaty. "Was it Gaius who identified it?"

"I'm sorry to say, but no, my lady. Gaius was one of those who fell." The gasp revealed the depths of her concern for yet another friend the young princess had made. "He is well, though unconscious. Arthur is preparing to journey to the Druid settlement within the woodlands near Gedref as we speak. They already knew what struck down our people; some of their own had become victims to it and only by chance did they stumble upon the solution."

Another look of enquiry tinged with disbelief, though Percival couldn't tell if it was for Arthur's seeking aid from a magical community or that the Druids had only accidentally found the cure.

"Sire, a piece of metal shaped like a disc created a...sort of...invisible field, and unless we bring the victims outside of it they will remain as if they're asleep. The only known edge of the field we know is at the line between the kingdoms where the Druids are encamped. Their healer tents are placed on your side of the border stream and when they brought their people across, they awoke." He paused then, unsure if his next words would cause offence. He hadn't the luxury of rank to soften any insult he may impart andArthur had been privy to so much more of the information the Druids held than he had been. He could not afford to be wrong in this. "All the information you need is in the letter, my lord. I don't know any more than what I have told you."

"Of course, of course. And you must be weary, too. A servant will show you to a room whilst I deliberate. There will be dinner later in the Great Hall or if you prefer, a servant can bring a meal to your chamber."

"Thank you, my lord. My quarters will do well enough." And with one last bow, he departed, following the silently obedient servant so very unlike his friend Merlin, who would have been in the same situation. He would have been chattering nineteen-to-the-dozen telling him all the interesting snippets about anything and everything and pointing out the various rooms in such an enthusiastic tone one could not take offence. Merlin didn't seem to do silence, unlike himself, and could carry the weight of the conversation for an entire room full of people. It had been...odd...out on the road, with him there but not really.

He spared a thought for the party he left behind and those friends even further afield in more ways than one. The sooner they all got back to normal the better. This situation made them all uncomfortable.

By now, hopefully, Arthur would have reached Camelot and the preparations would be well underway to get his people to safety, and he would be able to see them hale and hearty soon.

...

Why did Merlin always have to be difficult, even whilst unconscious? Was there something else wrong to make him stay asleep when everyone else had now rejoined the land of the living? It always seemed as if Arthur spent half his life waiting for the man, either for patrols, for his meals, for training. He thought he'd become used to it until now, when he had to sit there in a camp full of people who by rights should have hated him so thoroughly as to leave only a thin smear of blood in the dirt as evidence of his passing through and yet they had not. The Druids, in fact, had been kindness itself, barring an understandable wariness as if the people of Camelot were the more dangerous of the two groups and it was only a matter of time before the injured wolf they were treating turned and bit its caregiver.

It was disconcerting to be in the midst of a group of magic users and yet feel as if he were the dangerous one. He'd had it drilled into him so long that anyone with that spark was inherently evil and wouldn't be able to stop themselves going on a killing rampage as soon as they learned their first spell. How had he never realised how much more dramatic it sounded to have sorcerers and witches running round in a frenzy with fireballs at their fingertips than that they sat around stirring soup without touching the spoon? Just as the catalyst that brought the Witchfinder to Camelot a few years back and the man's subsequent lies and deceptions, it made him wonder just how embellished all those reports of magic out in the field had been and how many of the supposed users had been killed or persecuted unjustly for mundane actions or false accusations from vengeful enemies. With such thoughts, he couldn't blame the few more hostile looks he'd received from the notably younger looking Druids. Teenagers, it seemed, differed little in their hot-headedness no matter where they were from.

Nevertheless, the majority of the Druid camp had been there for them all in a way Arthur had to admire. Feeding the non-magical relatives, dribbling water and thin yet savoury broth past the now parched lips of the fallen, their kin, before they woke and handing out cups of it once they had. Administering strengthening herbs and making hearty stews and fresh bread by the bucket load to try and fill the hollow bellies of those who had only just rediscovered the joys of eating a meal.

Not to mention their compassion in the face of overwhelming fear of the once-fallen at finding themselves in so strange an environment with no memory of the past weeks despite their kith and kin sitting with them throughout the explanations. The children had been the most calm about the whole thing, thinking it an adventure and excited at the prospect of exploring somewhere new and making new friends. They were out there now playing a game with the Druid children, laughing and trying to run on legs too unsteady to hold them for long whilst the Druids encouraged them and held their hands. The adults could only marvel at their resilience and the ability to just take things and people in stride. Especially since they had all been told the shocking truth of the magic they had kept in secret or otherwise and that the king now knew.

The children young enough not to understand the significance had merely shrugged at their supposed abilities and then gone back to their play without a second glance. It could have been laughable really, the seriousness of the situation completely lost on them. But the rest? The rest either sat in stupefied terror staring at the ground or their hands not knowing what this would mean. Those who already had an inkling (or in some cases more than an inkling) just looked on steadily, resignation written into every line of their body language, waiting for the proverbial axe to fall and not entirely understanding why it hadn't already.

They'd all known of the consequences of using magic. It had been a familiar and accepted truth that those who took up such acts were believed by the majority of Camelot's citizens to be on the road to corruption and must be stopped at all costs. Now they were told they had it with incontrovertible proof and couldn't think what to do with the knowledge that not only were they known to hold a power they had always been told was a learned evil, a path where death lay in wait, but that their king had declared in no uncertain terms they wouldn't be punished for just having such a gift. It didn't mean life would be roses from now on. The prejudice was still there; they would still have to remain hidden for a long while yet, but at least now they knew that if their gifts became known, they would not be tried and burned under Uther's law for just possessing them. In Camelot's city at least, though the outlaying villages mayhap would take longer to embrace their new king's stance. It was still one small step down the path of trust and enlightenment for all of them.

Arthur made a point to let them know as soon as they emerged from the tents that they were safe from the crown's punishment, little as it seemed to comfort them. He was haunted by the wariness still held within their gaze and could only think they believed it still a trick to lure them into false hope. He was thankful at only having to deal with a few at a time with such emotional turmoil attendant. The staggered awakenings, according to the Druids' wisdom, having something to do with the combination of the returning strength of magic they held, experience, health, and age, or something to that effect. It had been an explanation rather hard to follow when it went into too much arcane and enigmatic detail, the mysteries of magic being beyond the normal scope of his education save those which dealt with how to find and kill its practitioners.

Yet, everyone had woken except Merlin. Every single one.

Even Gaius had emerged from the deep slumber they had all fallen into and a more awkward and heart-wrenching time Arthur had never known when he'd gone in after being informed he was stirring. He could only imagine what the experience would be like when Merlin did finally come to.

The old physician had been befuddled at first; they all had been when Arthur had made a point to be present at as many awakenings as possible to reassure them they had nothing to fear from him. But Gaius and those others of the older generation seeming to be particularly affected, Iseldir had counted it as a normal reaction with their age and health counting against a quick recovery. And Arthur had to admit he had never seen the man look so frail. Not even when he'd been recovering from his kidnapping had he looked so weak. Now requiring one of the Druid healer's assistance just to sit up in order to drink the water he sorely needed. Even more so when the young woman steadied the cup with a gentle hand as his shakiness threatened the bed sheets and making it seem they would be gaining more water than he would.

Again, Arthur marvelled at all the tenderness and care dispensed by the healers without even an inkling of prejudice to all of his citizens, those with and, most tellingly, those without magic. Mayhap it was the behaviour any physician might display; he'd seen it in evidence enough times when Merlin or Gaius treated the ills in the city. It left Arthur feeling hollow at the wrongs he'd done them in the past; these people had never deserved the hatred wrought against them so easily by ignorant kings and brainwashed countrymen. Though he could think of several who did warrant the crown's severe judgement, and only some of those held this sort of power.

When Gaius had finally become aware enough to really take in their surroundings, the confusion had only seemed to deepen, his faded eyes going wide and unblinking to see just who exactly was tending him as Arthur stood there at the base of the small bed trying to keep out of the way as much as possible. The Druid healer shifted to the other side to tend to Merlin on the old man's right as Arthur moved forward to sit with him, the well-rehearsed words of reassurance he'd come to distribute dancing on the tip of his tongue and finding little purchase.

This was Gaius after all, a man who had been as a father to him whilst growing up. A man who had offered both advice and comfort when his own parent had been too absorbed in the intricacies of running a kingdom to see to the hurts and curiosity of a small boy, and Arthur could tell immediately that he would need an entirely different tack to the now trite-seeming words he'd used with his other common-born subjects.

"Did I hit my head, sire? Was there a battle? I can't seem to recall…." The physician's voice trailed off sounding small and bewildered, surely thinking he'd lost his mind. Old, weary eyes roved around the tent. Of course, Gaius would recognize the arrangement of these accommodations. He'd spent enough time treating the wounded in similar shelters when out on campaign with both he and his father.

"No, Gaius. No battle." Arthur paused for only a second, no use delaying the inevitable any longer. "There was an illness and a lot of people were affected. We had to move you all here where you could be treated and these tents were the only ones big enough." Gaius was so taken aback, the disbelief written plainly across his aged face, now clearly wondering if Arthur had taken leave of his senses.

"You asked the Druids for help, sire?" It was as if he were trapped in some dream. "Surely, Merlin's skills are…Merlin!"

The healer had shifted again and now Gaius could plainly see his ward lying next to him, clearly unconscious still, and he reached out to him instinctively. But his strength was practically non-existent and he almost fell from the bed in his haste and instability.

Arthur saw it coming and caught him with ease. "I've got you." He helped him lie back against the bank of pillows at the back of his cot, Gaius' gaze never leaving his ward. "Try not to move so suddenly again. You'll be weak for a while yet."

"Thank you, sire." A quick glance in Arthur's direction was all he afforded the king before his eyes landed on Merlin again. "Did the Druids say what the illness was? Perhaps, I can be of some assistance."

"You need rest, Gaius. The Druids have it well in hand. Leave someone else to it for once." The silence stretched between them, Arthur in his cowardice and Gaius assessing his ward's condition with his eyes alone, though the king's compassion for him was not lost on the old physician. "Merlin is well on the way to recovery, you have my word." Another glance, this one with a raised eyebrow at Arthur's procrastination at telling him exactly what was wrong with them all. The king cursed the man's perception and intelligence, gauging how much he might be able to say and wondering if being too blunt might kill him just from the shock alone. He could see no easy way to say what Gaius' penetrating stare was undoubtedly asking, but perhaps he could temper the blow slightly by stating his reassurances first.

"I have always valued your advice, Gaius. You were my mentor when my father was too busy, my…my friend. I want you to know your place and Merlin's are assured for as long as you wish. You will always be welcome in Camelot." Gaius' other brow rose to meet the first, not having any clue what this might have to do with any of the questions he'd asked, except that a shiver of…something…skittered down his spine, whether in dread or anticipation.

"Thank you, sire, for your support, but forgive me for saying, I do not entirely see your point." Arthur's jaw worked for a few seconds, agitation at himself growing. Goodness knows how Gaius was going to take this. All Arthur could do was take the plunge and hope they didn't drown.

"There is a disc, apparently made when the Old Religion was at its height. An artefact that affects…sorcerers and makes their…magic…sleep; one which sends the people who hold such power into a comatose state, and broken only if the disc is deactivated or they are taken outside of its sphere of influence. Does this sound familiar to you?"

There was no way Arthur could miss the signs of distress, for the old man had paled further with every word spoken. His shock and fear and glances toward his ward were now full of a protective, naked need for safety in the face of danger beyond all comprehension. He knew exactly what Arthur was saying.

They had been found out.

Arthur reached over and gently took Gaius' hand in both of his own, squeezing with barely any pressure but enough to bring him back to himself just a little, enough to gain his ear and calm his riotous heart. "Your loyalty is so very appreciated, Gaius. I don't think words are enough to say thank you for all you have done for us, both of you. As soon as we find a way, we will get you home." He'd promised himself he would not become emotional over this and yet here he was with tears pricking the backs of his eyes and threatening to fall in a torrent at his sheer stupidity and obliviousness at what his subjects had been going through under his nose. Gaius had been a much-needed mentor all his life and he held no shame in showing his sorrow to someone so dear.

Staring at him now and at his servant beyond him, he would find a way to repay them. He must. His honour demanded it.

…..

Gaius had felt well enough to join the other recovering Fallen for an evening meal around the campfires. Still unsteady, the lingering weakness due to their not having moved in two weeks and the lack of outside nutrients, their magic had become their only source of nourishment whilst under the effects of the artefact and they were all now feeling the after effects.

Arthur lent his arm and his strength to get him there despite Gaius' protests that someone else could help him, still wary, still shaken at the king's care and apparent acceptance. Arthur would have none of it, this was the least he owed the man, and as he pointed out, purposefully teasing him in the absence of Merlin, he was king and could do as he damn well pleased.

Gaius could only smile. Arthur seemed to have grown years in only weeks and realised there was truth in the saying that out of adversity comes wisdom. He'd never thought to see this day. And then his smile grew wistful at Merlin still lying there missing his king's emergence from the confines of his duty-imposed chrysalis of ill tradition and misguided responsibility.

Arthur followed his gaze and his voice softened to a timbre Gaius had never before heard. "I'll talk to Iseldir. Find out why he's not woken yet. He's the last one and I'm…I'm worried." There. It was said. The first and possibly the only time it ever would be voiced in such a direct way. Merlin was his friend and Arthur would always worry about him in dire or uncertain times, maybe now more so than ever. But there was an unspoken agreement held between them both. Merlin would poke and prod and call him useless, made up, insulting names to bring his ego back down to size and Arthur would never admit out loud any finer feeling for anyone he genuinely cared for within hearing distance merely because he knew it would end up as ammunition next time Merlin wanted to berate him for something.

"Merlin is strong, sire. Much stronger than most give him credit for." It was Gaius' turn to reassure the king. He knew of his fondness for his ward even though it had taken Arthur years to admit it. "He will come out of this."

"Oh, I have no doubts, Gaius. He's just being his usual lazy self. Getting out of the chores any way he can." The grin was the same boyish one usually directed at his ward when the banter flowed and the sarcasm hit new heights, but underneath there was a genuine concern that meant the smile never reached his eyes and Gaius could only nod.

Gaius made no more demure chatter as he was helped to a seat with his fellow magic users, needing to lean on Arthur's arm a little more than he would have liked and sighing in relief when the brief trip ended. Arthur patted his shoulder one last time, spoke to Gwaine briefly about sitting with his friend, needing to know he would not be alone when he did finally re-join the land of the living, and made his way onward toward the tents of the elders.

…..

"Was there something you needed, Fendril?" Iseldir asked when his friend remained near the flap of the tent upon entering, motionless, but obviously troubled.

"The young Pendragon…" His brow creased, and he shook his head as if to jog something loose.

"Yes?" the elder prompted with long practiced patience.

"He is not what I expected him to be at all." Iseldir studied his friend of many years. The man had lost much at Uther's hand, they all had. Fendril had been a respected member of the king's court at one point, a liaison of sorts since he was a Druid, but one without magic. He'd been young then, barely past his majority and impulsive in spite of his studiousness and diplomacy skills.

He had to flee for his life when he'd spoken out one too many times on behalf of his magic wielding brethren in those dark days just after Arthur's birth. He'd risked everything to come and warn them of Uther's rage at Nimueh's incompetence taken as betrayal. She should have warned the king that the price was always someone close to the heart, one dear life for another. They'd had to leave everything and everyone behind and flee for their very lives. He'd lost a goodly number of his friends, his livelihood, and his precious library where a wealth of knowledge supplied more succour than the sumptuous meals that he took daily. He'd been understandably bitter, so to see him so conflicted over Uther's son, for him to hold a spark of awe enough to tell him gave Iseldir pause.

"I think the young king has surprised a lot of people recently."

"He knew!" Fendril breathed, a spark fanning into a small flame. "He knew before we brought them over and he didn't bat an eyelid!"

"Yes." Iseldir drew out slowly. "His actions threw me as well. I think we may have underestimated **our king**." The emphasis on the _'our king'_ was deliberate. Fendril had always been an advocate of Arthur not being the Once and Future King. How could he be, they had argued, when he was the son of Uther, both butchers of their kind, hypocrites, and deniers of the true nature of magic.

But Fendril didn't rise to the bait as he would have before. Iseldir could only think that he hadn't heard his subtle probing. Was perhaps too lost in his own musings regarding this whole situation or he was finally, and not before time, beginning to see the same patterns drawn in the fabric of the world Iseldir and the rest of the Druid seers had known since Emrys came into being.

"Even Uther, before Ygraine…there was…a wariness to him when it came to magic…and now his son, who has grown up with only Uther's version of events playing out in his head? He startled me to be contrary." The latter of the two reasons then. It had been a long time coming for Fendril to finally look at why they had been so adamant in their clan's support of Arthur when there were so many others so deeply opposed to him. And perhaps now they would not be at such loggerheads every time the subject of Emrys came up in council.

"I believe Emrys may have had some hand in the king's current stance." It amused Iseldir no end to see his friend so animated for once. Especially considering the source of his current fervour. But such enthusiasm didn't last long as his brows drew downwards abruptly and he all but hunched into himself.

"You saw him, didn't you? How...vulnerable he looked. I thought…" He started staring out of the tent flap as if the sunlit day held all his answers.

"You thought what, my friend?"

"Why did Emrys not escape the disc's effects?" Now that was a very good question and one Iseldir wished to know the answer to himself. There had been nothing amongst the visionaries, himself included to warn of what was to come. They had all been blindsided, but...by all rights, Emrys' magic should have been unique and powerful enough to overcome it with only minimal difficulty. He did however, have a slight theory he had come up with based on all the encounters he had ever seen of the warlock.

"My conclusions could be wrong but…the many times I have met him in the past he has seemed tired to the point of collapse. The life of a servant is hard, you know that very well." He shrugged his shoulders slightly, indicating he had nothing solid to base his interpretations on, but he was an excellent study on the human condition. "Perhaps physical exhaustion along with the sudden nature of the activation was enough to overcome his defences?" Fendril took one look at the Elder, at his face drawn in an unfamiliar pout, and he smiled.

"He has you baffled?" He practically crowed. "You, who take such pride in always trying to stay one step ahead, are faced with a dilemma you cannot fathom. This _'invasion'_ was worth it just to see you so perplexed." He was openly laughing now, but Iseldir could not think on his amusement.

"Fendril…" The disapproving tone just seemed to make the normally withdrawn Druid chortle further.

"Oh, I know they aren't invading but Helena coined that phrase and you know she would mean nothing by it." Ah. Helena was one of the oldest and kindest of their number and with the oddest sense of humour. If she saw fit to call it an invasion, it would be all over camp by the morrow as a fond nickname for those of Camelot. _The Invaders_. Still they might take it as unbearably rude if someone did not take the time to explain or the younger set just took it literally and ran with it in a much more antagonistic way. The frown remained as he mentally rescheduled his evening to make time to quash any disrespect that might be brewing. The jest slowly but surely lost its lustre as Iseldir's face remained stoic and Fendril sobered.

"In all seriousness, Iseldir. What are we to tell King Arthur? He may know of the magic, but Emrys is another matter entirely."

"I think at this point, all we can do is wait and see. It may yet be unnecessary. Emrys may tell him himself."

"I'm not entirely sure I have such faith he will. He may be Emrys, but...he is so young."

"Not so young, my friend." Fendril's laugh rang out once more in truly genuine mirth.

"From my vantage point he is." His voice turned just a little sly. "And from yours even more so!" Iseldir looked askance. Fendril had been this boisterous in his relative youth, but the years of hiding had made him a much more dour individual. It seemed with Arthur's arrival and his obvious attitude of care toward his magically-inclined subjects had renewed Fendril's faith, and not just his friend's either. He had seen other instances of those who felt downtrodden amongst the camp rising once again to a semblance of their former glory. How far would this hope stretch, he wondered.

He had done his best over the years to keep this family hale and hearty and constantly moving onward. And yet they had been without proof for so long that every little increment which showed Albion's rising seemed to breathe new life into this clan, his family. Something was stirring now within the king and kingdom, the first breaths he hoped might someday soon become the force needed to sweep away the dark clouds they had been living under for so long. Perhaps he might yet see his children enjoy the same respect and lack of fear for the gifts the goddess granted him, which he had been afforded in his own youth. As Fendril left, a new spring in his step and a fervent light shining within he had thought long since extinguished burning ever brighter, Iseldir closed his eyes and whispered a prayer of gratitude.

"Thank you, Emrys."

…..

 _Well, that had definitely been enlightening_ , Arthur thought as he watched Fendril walk away. He'd come from around the backs of the tents, fully intending to ask Iseldir's opinion about Merlin as he had originally said, when he'd heard those first sentences of the conversation.

 _"The young Pendragon…"_

 _"Yes?"_

 _"He is not what I expected him to be at all."_

He hadn't thought to listen in but to know finally the opinions they held of his methods, his character, well, the opportunity was too convenient to pass up even if it did sit slightly ill within him to eavesdrop, their relationship with the Druids fragile enough as it were.

Yet…they were…surprised by him. Well, the feeling was mutual. The Druids had astonished him at every turn. The talk of his father had made him uncomfortable, however. They made him realise he would need to confront his feelings about the stance his father had taken head on probably sooner rather than later.

And the unease kept right on growing at the talk of Emrys. Just who was he? One of their own Druids maybe? But no, they talked of his being a servant, though they said his name with such reverence as if he were of a much more noble birth. They talked of meeting him multiple times, of his exhaustion, his youth, and hinted at his power.

There was only one man he could think of who could have fitted their description and that man was still laid in the tents, asleep. He was the only young male servant within the ranks of the fallen who held any sort of position near the crown, who had been on every quest with him where he had met Iseldir, and whose eyes had seemed to shine the brightest of all his magical subjects in that one brief moment when they'd crossed the barrier.

A wave of terrible betrayal shot through him when they spoke of Emrys' influence over him, but it was gone before it had even taken root and guilt replaced it. Merlin's influence was not that of a man manipulating those around him to gain the best for himself. His manservant had been given so little acknowledgement over the years and nothing more had been asked for, nor even hinted at.

Merlin **cared** for people in a way he had never seen before, a way that was more than looking after his person and his horses and the ills of the castle. He would help anyone and work himself into the ground if he thought he could make a difference for them. He could not think of such a man as being manipulative in the same way as Morgana, Morgause, the diplomats who constantly flattered and cajoled in order to gain the best trade deals, the adulation they craved or the punishment demanded of a man they believed had done them wrong.

This was something he needed to hear. _Why did they call him Emrys?_ What was his significance since he couldn't believe it was merely because he'd been seen in Arthur's company a few times?

He now strode forward toward the tent flap with a great deal less confidence and a lot more trepidation than he had before he'd heard such a controversial conversation.

…..

It took a while for Iseldir to realise he was no longer alone. Arthur Pendragon stood at the entrance to his tent, arms folded and looking intimidating, even without the trappings of a warrior.

"King Arthur." The elder directed only a mere nod of the head to indicate any kind of respect for the man in front of him.

"You wanted to protect them from me." No preamble and not a question just a statement; he knew damn well he had.

"I did. I had no way to know how you would react."

"Fair enough," the king conceded. "I suppose I cannot blame you for being cautious. I would love to say the precaution wasn't necessary but…I do understand."

The elders' brow rose, unbelieving. "Do you, my lord?"

There was that air of someone driving home a valuable lesson into a less than receptive brain, and Arthur was just a tad sick of it. "Is it the usual practice of magic users to think me too intractable or too dim-witted to be able to understand the changes needed?" It was his time to challenge the status quo. "I'd like to think I have a modicum of sense enough to at least see what these last days have done to my subjects. I would have to be blind, deaf, dumb and stupid not to know."

He was irritated, offended, and Iseldir's eyebrows had risen and a startled and calculating glance was levelled at him whilst the silence stretched out that left the king with the feeling he was being weighed and measured and falling far short of the ideal, until Iseldir surprised him with a sincere smile and yet another gracious dip of the head.

"I…apologise, my lord."

The gestures and words of the elder said everything, especially in light of what he had overheard, and the king's defences withdrew, easily slipping back into the diplomacy and gratitude he had hope to convey throughout the whole meeting and had failed miserably almost from the first word. "It's Arthur. Shall we start again, then?" The king held out his hand for the Druid to grasp, which he did with a startled look of enquiry. "Thank you for the care of my people."

"You are most welcome…Arthur."

Arthur moved past him further into the tent. Iseldir studied him with a direct gaze, refreshing after the suspicion and paranoia he and his men had endured their first time here. Even now they were treated better but still with that underlying suspicion from several members of the clan. They had all been given the same consideration as the fallen ones but tempered with the wary respect one would give to a dangerous wounded creature, in need of care but likely to turn and snap at any moment.

"I believe I must apologise myself. I could not help overhearing your conversation just now. Your mention of Emrys: you mean Merlin, don't you?" It was as pointed and direct as his hawkish gaze.

That look of mild shock was back, accompanied by a nod of confirmation. "Ah. I take it you heard everything?" Arthur inclined his head and Iseldir sighed cursing his forgetfulness, realising the sigils used to keep sound from escaping would need replenishing, something which needed to be done every so often as they were worn down on the sun-faded cloth.

"Not my finest moment I grant you. But I came here for answers and though what I heard has brought yet more questions, am I right in thinking that Merlin being this Emrys is linked to the reason he is the last to wake?"

"I believe it is. Though, I think it would be better for all concerned if Merlin explained everything regarding Emrys, this I can tell you. Merlin is powerful, and his magic is, as I explained to Fendril, unique. He is no mere hedge wizard nor even a more experienced sorcerer. His gifts are...diverse to put it mildly, and as such their return will take more time."

"What do you mean 'diverse'?"

"I forget how very limited your education has been in certain areas."

Well, that was a little rude, Arthur thought. Another slight aimed at his father and his own intelligence. No, he hadn't been told everything about magic, something which needed rectifying as soon as possible given his intentions. But as a prince, he had been afforded a very well rounded education, and since learning any form of magic had been a death sentence even he the heir apparent, may not have escaped unscathed given his father's rigorous regime. It was also rather offensive. But he kept his thoughts to himself and swallowed his ire this time, as it seemed more as if Iseldir had been speaking to himself in a manner more absentminded rather than provocative.

"My lord, magic is as much a part of the world as the sea, or the sky, or even the dirt beneath your feet. Everyone is born with magic within them. It is the very spark of creation which allows you to live."

"So why did the disc not affect everyone?" The king's bafflement was profound.

"A very wise question, Arthur. Those who can use magic are those who have been born with the gift of perception, another sense as it were, like sight or hearing. They can feel the eddies of force within the very fabric of the world, and with sufficient study and practice to hone their talent, can manipulate them. This is the definition of a sorcerer. The disc hones in on this perception and sends out signals which disrupt this sense. This is why we all screamed. It is painful. Imagine if you will, a very high pitched noise getting consistently louder until it is so loud and so close you cannot withstand it anymore and lose consciousness."

Arthur winced mightily at the image called into being by the Druid's words. Of remembering that terrifying moment when Merlin's screaming pierced through the council chambers, penetrated every body present and unnerving them as it touched their cores. He dared to think no one within that hall remained unaffected. It had sounded as if Merlin was being tortured, and from what Iseldir was saying that was a very fair analogy, an image of which would stay with him for a very long time.

"So why do you think Merlin could have overcome the disc's effects if…he'd had more strength?" If he hadn't overworked him, pushed him beyond endurance. The guilt built within knowing it was mostly his fault. He didn't do well with displays of 'feelings', he never had any normal human being may have been sympathetic if they saw the naked pain his manservant sometimes couldn't disguise, Arthur made him work. Pushed him until there was no room left to think of his grief or guilt or whatever the emotion of the moment was. Anyone else but Merlin would have folded under and quit at such displays of 'care'. Merlin however seemed to take it as the greatest reward no matter he would grumble and grouse, loudly and without cease until Arthur told him to shut up. Then there would be that tired, fond smile and he'd go home and sleep. Only to come bouncing back in the next morning as if nothing had been bothering him and with a new made up insult to taunt him with.

"Most sorcerers can command only one or two, at the very most three aspects of magic, and the greater the number they wield the less control they usually have over them. But as I said, Merlin is rather unique. He holds the reins of at least three disciplines with equal weight and rudimentary knowledge in all others with the potential to master most given enough time and training. Not only that, but he has a complex heritage and a connection to a magical creature which should have given him some protection from the disc given that such ancient forms of magic aren't affected by human-made articles."

Arthur's mouth opened and closed a few times in the telling and he could only imagine what his expression looked like to the Druid elder. He was floored. Iseldir stated everything with such reverence Arthur didn't know what to think anymore. His servant was apparently some all powerful and extremely talented magician of great renown amongst the Druids at least. He had to be for them to know so much about him and his magic. Only a few weeks ago Arthur had still thought him an extremely loyal brave fool, a little bumbling but lovable, and a good friend to have as your counsel in the midst of a crisis.

He had been confronted with his having magic near two weeks ago, and somehow he had been fine with it when he had just been one of several people hiding away in his kingdom trying to make a life for themselves. Now to find he wasn't just Merlin, the king's manservant who helped occasionally with an illegal gift, but someone the Druids had a special name for and whom respected him greatly if Iseldir's reaction was anything to go by.

And what should he make of Iseldir's claim that Merlin had a connection to a magical creature? What creature? The only one he'd ever met which hadn't tried to take a piece out of the kingdom had been the unicorn and even then his actions toward it had resulted in drought, famine, and death. Just how much had Merlin done to be held in such esteem? Arthur was, for want of a better word, awed. It was hard to fathom. It was _Merlin_ , for goodness sake!

"Right. Of course. Why not? Does he consort with faeries and gnomes then? Take tea with the Pixies and dance with the Elves under the full moon?" Arthur scoffed lightly. He could just picture his doing so, fey as he had appeared upon first acquaintance with his almost delicate masculinity. Gwen, Morgana, even a few other ladies of the court had commented that he seemed more ethereal than the norm. It had always surprised him that so many women had fairly swooned over those cut glass cheekbones and air of mystery he'd never been able to put his finger on. Well, now he knew, asmall corner of his being shouting _**truth**_ with such strength as could not be ignored any longer, so much so that he gave a single slightly hysterical laugh. Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands as if the blindfold he had recently worn for so long were physical rather than emotional.

The king sighed, the rubbing not helping his too tired eyes, knowing the humour was falling far short, but there was far too much to think about. Iseldir just waited patiently for the king to compose himself, which he did with another heartfelt sigh and an attempt to reason through at least some of what the Elder had said. "So, let me see if I've got this straight. The very thing that makes him powerful has also weakened him. You're saying he's not likely to wake any time soon?"

"Oh, I don't think it will be too much longer. From what I have seen, he is a strong-willed young man."

"Too damn right, he is," Arthur stated with a rueful laugh. "Too much so on occasion. I don't think I've ever met a man more stubborn." The stunned king turned toward the tent flap once more, question after question still hankering for attention, not least of which were these new and altogether earth-shattering revelations about his friend, as if his magic hadn't been just as bad. But as Iseldir told him, it would be better coming directly from the source. He would just have to learn patience. "Thank you again, Iseldir. I hope I can rely on your knowledge in the days to come. I think the kingdom will need more people well versed in the nature of magic in the not too distant future. I should like to think you are someone who could become a valuable ally?"

"I think we might be able to manage that, King Arthur."

It was undeniable the new respect they now held for each other, tentative, but with room to grow and flourish. Arthur once again held out his arm to seal the accord. The presence of a Druid, a revered Elder, confidently walking through the gates of Camelot without fear of reprisal would signify to all that he was serious about change.

It was revolutionary. It was terrifying.

Arthur could cause a civil war so soon into his young reign, but it was so damned necessary for the magical community to be recognized. To be known properly for what and who they really were. His people. Their people. They deserved just as much respect and freedom as the next man and he would see to them having it, or die trying. If his reign were to truly represent the ideals of justice and equality he had always dreamed of, he could do no less than make it happen. …..

Merlin woke in considerable confusion, warm and mostly comfortable, but he could tell right away this was not his bed. It was firmer for a start, and less lumpy than his own where the straw ticking of his mattress had moved under the wool conforming to his body shape.

Opening his eyes only brought more puzzlement as he realised he was lying on a cot in a dimly lit tent that, though unfamiliar and large if the size of the canopy was anything to go by, still looked remarkably similar to the ones used for the competitors to get ready in during the many tournaments Camelot hosted. Except this was a structure many times the size of those smaller enclosures and he couldn't immediately recall ever seeing one as big. Blinking his bleary eyes in the light of the lamps hung by a chain from the crossed poles in the canopy, he could see many more cots like his own. With blankets strung on cords between them it made them seem like somewhat more private individual sections though these blankets were flung back now. All of those he could make out in the light from the hanging lamp were unoccupied at the moment, though he could just about see that some were neatly made up and others were crumpled, having obviously been slept in at some point.

It was silent too, save for his own breathing, and for a tent made of only thin canvas that seemed rather unnatural. Although he could be mistaken, there could be walls behind the fabric, but where would the point be in that? Especially since he could feel the faint tingle of magic within the cloth as he reached out to brush his fingers lightly across the surface. His unease was growing by the second; his somewhat sluggish magic finally answering his faint probing to detect the subtleties of a silencing spell placed on the tent which explained the lack of noise at least, though it did little to reassure him. Any time magic was used within Camelot, it was down to either his own spell casting or someone out for revenge in one form or another. Since this was obviously not his own work...

And why a silencing spell?

And for that matter just where in the hell was he? What had happened? Casting his mind back, all he could remember was standing in Camelot's council chambers feeling utterly bored and sleepy due to the sun shining through the windows. After that, it was a blank, just nothing except there was now a pounding starting up at the base of his skull and trying to get up left him shaken and dizzy. But he managed, now sitting on the edge of the cot swaying slightly and wishing he hadn't moved at all.

Feeling at the back of his head, there was no noticeable injury either to explain the headache nor the apparent memory loss. He'd had concussion before and it had never felt like this. Yet there was nothing else that could explain why one moment he'd been stood listening to the councillors drone on, and waking in a strange tent, nowhere near Camelot unless some unknown sorcerer was going around enchanting tents to become both bigger and less noisy within the confines of the city in some random act of insane folly.

Now he was at least moderately upright and with the throbbing of his head subsiding somewhat, the state of his throat made itself known. Feeling much like parchment buried in a vat of sand and left standing in the midst of Camelot's sunniest courtyard during a heatwave, his thirst would need to be rectified soon and he could only think that here might be at least one of the causes of his headache. Looking around the large, empty tent, he couldn't see anything even remotely like a goblet of water, or more appropriately for his need, a bucket.

He wasn't tied up in any way either, so it didn't seem as if he were a prisoner. But the previous act of just pulling himself up to a sitting position had proven a monumental undertaking. And although he wanted to explore and find both a drink and the answers to his myriad questions, it would have to wait until he could move without feeling as though the earth were spinning around him, or as if he were about to throw up. Merlin tentatively lay back down wondering if he would be able to get back up again but unable to withstand the slow spinning of his surroundings whilst being upright.

Perhaps someone would come before he decided to move again? If there was anyone here. He really, really hoped he wasn't alone, the large number of cots seemed to tell him he wasn't but no sound was filtering through and it was unnerving. Who was to say everyone hadn't been killed or gone to a feast or sold as slaves in some sordid market...?

By the goddess, now he was just letting his imagination run away with him, a sadly regular occurrence despite getting older and supposedly wiser. Right. Someone would be back to check on him, anyone would do. Hell, he'd even take mad sorcerers with a taste for kidnapping manservants and keeping them in large, empty, soundproofed tents at this point if he appeared carrying a pitcher and was willing to share.

…..


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N So I have to apologise yet again for the exceedingly long wait since it has been *Chokes* very nearly an entire year since I updated anything. It has been a year like none other. I never expected my business to become so busy, nor did I know I would be forced by necessity to move house with all of the attendant problems. There are really good reasons for my being so utterly appalling at uploading but they aren't really excuses. I am hoping I will have more time to write this year but good intentions don't seem to transform into actually getting stuck in and doing. I will try, but I cannot guarantee when my next update will be. I hope this new chapter will go some way towards apologising though since it's the one a lot of you have been waiting for. I hope I have done it justice and if there are any mistakes please excuse them I have not been able to get this to a beta.**_

 _ **Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou to all who have kept reviewing during this far too long hiatus. This one is for you. May it keep your faith in me alive.**_

 **...**

He'd tried to get up again from the cot since the dizziness wouldn't subside and nor would the pain in his head. It throbbed worse than anything he recalled experiencing even when he'd been knocked out from a glancing blow during training and lain unconscious for an entire day. He grinned slightly in rueful remembrance at the memory of Gwaine and Lancelot's faces upon waking and their humorous account of how panicked the then prince regent had been and his attempts to find out his condition without seeming to really care. A lot had happened since and in the time since Arthur's coronation, the kings regard had become strained. The constraints upon their disparate positions meant any overt signs of care became buried ever more deeply in case his council took his favouritism toward a mere servant the wrong way. Too many people nowadays would have taken offence and deemed his presence and supposed influence as both wrong and dangerous.

Now he was most obviously alone. Merlin couldn't work out if that was just another way to throw Arthur's sycophantic advisors even further or he'd contracted something contagious and therefore being kept as far from anyone considered remotely important as possible. Or mayhap with the amount of time he and the king spent together, Arthur had also contracted said illness and was now being kept in pampered, royal isolation. He grinned slightly to imagine the sheer boredom and irritation Arthur would be experiencing if such was the case. He could only imagine how bad his temper would become. Merlin grimaced at the strident winging he'd had to put up with in other times of Arthur's forced inactivity. Then the grin became a raspy laugh as he realised **he** didn't have to deal with the royal pain in the rear end right now. He had to concede to feeling just slightly sorry for those who did.

Never the less, amusing as it was trying to imagine how everyone else would cope with the king's toddlerish behaviour, it didn't help him one iota in figuring out exactly what was wrong with him or what he was to do now. His theory of this being the sort of attack a mentally unstable sorcerer hell bent on passive aggressive revenge might apply had reluctantly been tossed out of the metaphorical window. It was he thought rather stupid now as his mind had cleared somewhat from the fog he'd woken with. And with his muddled brain finally recognising the tent as one of those they'd taken with them on that thankfully well resolved campaign into Cearleon to confront Queen Annis. He couldn't be blamed he thought for forgetting, he'd only seen the damn thing once and had been rather preoccupied in keeping a prat alive at the time, not looking around at the minute details of their accommodations.

How long had he been awake now? A good while, half a candle-mark at least, or so his internal senses were telling him, and he was getting more and more restless as the seconds ticked by with still no sign of another living soul. Surely someone was monitoring the tents if they had indeed housed the sick? Gaius would have had his head if he had been so careless as to leave a patient so long alone. For that matter where was his father figure? Was he sick too? There was no doubt in Merlin's mind if Gaius had been in charge of whatever had befallen him and whomsoever had been sharing this tent he would not have been so lax. His absence therefore sent a sharp stab of worry straight to his gut and motivated him even more into finding out exactly what was going on.

Determinedly he rested his chin on his chest, breathing deep and eyes closed against the spinning, he took a much more careful stock of his symptoms than his first rather hasty and half hearted assessment, trying to gauge with his medical and magical senses just what he might have come down with if anything. It wasn't easy to pinpoint. The nausea and headache, achy joints and weakness could be signs of a dozen different illnesses, along with poison or recovery from infection though there was no sign of injury, nor any recollection of being so, the same with poison. Nor did his magic seem overly depleted as would have happened if he had been excessively wounded or recovering from a severe illness. The only thing he could glean with any accuracy were the signs of dehydration he'd found earlier, also associated with many minor illnesses, and a somewhat unusual soreness to his magical core which when he tried a whispered spell to summon water, left him gasping and made him not want to try that again for a while.

His magic was still there he could feel it, full and warmly glowing the same as always. But if prodded felt akin to the same sort of dull ache an overextended muscle might feel when recovering. He could use it but it would hurt for a long while and take longer to heal. He'd felt that before, many times when he'd been growing into his power as a youngster. There were many times he'd woken up somewhere he didn't recall falling asleep in as a child only to be informed by his worried mother he'd lost an entire day's worth of memories. Perhaps then he'd just had a growth spurt of magic? It would be odd if so, since he'd not had one since his adolescence, but it was nowhere near serious. It might also somewhat explain why he couldn't remember anything about why he was currently laying in this particular place.

The weakness, shaking and headache could therefore just be because of a lack of water, (who knew how long he'd been out for this time) and knew it would only get worse if he didn't get a drink soon. He sighed knowing that since no one had appeared in all the time he'd been awake and it looked as if there wouldn't be anyone making an entrance any time in the near future, he would just have to find his own dratted water.

It was easier said than done. Standing seemed to be out of the question since he doubled over with an overwhelming feeling of sickness as soon as he tried getting to his feet. He'd never in his life felt so unwell save the brief flashes of the time he'd been poisoned his first year in Camelot and that one far too memorable occasion after the Serkets. He ended up slowly inching his way to the edge of the bed with gritted teeth and painfully sliding himself to the floor before crawling to the entrance, his jaw locked against the strain, hoping someone would come and help and at the same time knowing how embarrassing it would be if anyone he knew did happen upon him creeping along on hands and knees across the floor.

He hadn't taken full account of how weak he truly felt nor how breathless such small exertion would leave him. _Perhaps,_ he thought with irritated fatigue, _Arthur had finally been mad enough to have all the knights have at him at once in training_ _._ He had to stop barely half way to the flap, sweat he could ill afford to lose dripping into his eyes and appendages too shaky to hold him up any longer. He rested his weight back on his legs, head tucked into his arms resting on the floor, bum stuck in the air like a feeding duck, in what he could only assume was an extremely comical sight if only it were not him doing so and tried to gather enough strength and air for the remaining distance which seemed if possible to be moving even farther away.

"Merlin mate!" Bleary eyes briefly looked up from their contemplation of the dirt beneath him with a groan to the sight of Gwaine standing at the tent flap beaming down at him, "We thought you'd never be up. What are you doing down there?"

"I was...looking for something." Merlin mumbled feeling his cheeks heating in humiliation as his friend grabbed him under the arms and hauled him up as if he weighed nothing. Depositing him back on the low bed with a slight grunt and then bringing forth the water skin slung carelessly over his shoulder. "Sorry about not being here when you rejoined the land of the living, had to refill this since everyone else has been ravenous and seriously thirsty when they first woke and took it all. Not surprising really but hey!" The knight looked around the empty tent with a slight frown marring his face not noticing the frown that his comment produced on Merlin's face. "Where's everyone else?" he asked contemplatively as he poured a horn beaker half full of the cool water.

Merlin shrugged preoccupied with Gwaine's words which indicated he hadn't been the only one to suffer in this manner. It seemed illness **was** the cause then. He swallowed a few times to settle his stomach back down placing his fingers almost delicately against his forehead and wincing with obvious pain. When after a few minutes Gwaine still stood looking out toward the empty beds merlin raised his hand to wave at the knights face, brow raised to indicate the beaker still held within his friends hand. Gwaine looked as if he'd forgotten what it was for, confusion evident as he looked back at the Warlock. "Water?" Merlin rasped out. Gwaine's expression suddenly cleared and all Merlin saw was sheepish embarrassment as the cup was offered into his own trembling hand. The knights calloused fingers had stayed, steadying in silent apology. "Sorry mate, don't know what I was thinking. Of course you need a drink being so long without."

Merlin tried reigning in his embarrassment at being found face down on the floor and his continued weakness, with little success. His energy still hadn't made an appearance and when all was said and done what use was holding on to such discomfiture when even holding a cup of water was proving to be a trial. He'd been a physicians apprentice long enough to know how any malady could affect even the strongest of men. He left his cheeks to burn.

Gwaine helped him sit back and held the cup steady to allow him to take the sips he as a physician knew he had to limit himself to lest he throw it all back up again. Though it was hard not to just try and gulp all that Gwaine was offering. An act he executed with more gentleness and concern than Merlin had ever seen the knight display for anyone, even his many damsels in distress. "What happened?" he managed to croak out when his throat finally eased from its deepest desert dryness to a mere scratchy thirstiness, "You said everyone? Last thing I remember is the most god awful council meeting."

"Well as to that, you were ill mate, along with half of Camelot!" Merlin's eyebrows rose to his hairline. _Half of Camelot? So then where_ _ **was**_ _everyone else? And why was he in a tent?_ _Had they run out of places to put everyone?_ Surely not. Even when the epidemic in the tainted water had hit Camelot his first year of service, the victims had stayed within their own houses and no extra accommodation had been needed despite it's affecting nearly two thirds of the city. He was still no closer to any sort of rational explanation.

"Half of Camelot Gwaine?" Merlin's head whipped round at the second voice emerging from the vicinity of the tent flap. "You know, this is the kind of exaggerated tattling I was hoping to avoid when I told you to wait for me before butchering the explanation!"

Arthur stepped through what passed for a door in this overlarge tent with his usual arrogantly confident swagger he normally used to stalk through the hallowed halls of Camelot's citadel, and yet there was a smile upon his face that held a slew of mischief and a twinkle deep within his blue irises which spoke of relief. "Still with us then?" Despite his confusion, his weakness and the water now settling uneasily in his stomach to the point he believed it was one jostle away from making a surprise reappearance Merlin couldn't help but grin. They were the same words Arthur had used directly after the Morteus poison.

"Just about, Yeah." The grin faded somewhat as the tension inexplicably rose between the two knights now jostling for space. There was something going on here despite Arthur's levity and Gwaine's expression of good cheer that Merlin couldn't put his finger on and he looked between them with misgivings getting deeper only to mask his uncertainties with long practiced ease and state with his usual snarky cheeriness. "So, did Camelot suddenly run out of beds?" He indicated the rest of the tent with one shaking hand.

Instead of answering in the same long accustomed vein Arthur just gave him a single raised eyebrow which could have given Gaius's a run for its money and turned to the knight at his side with a seriousness Merlin had only ever seen in the direst of circumstances. _Just what on earth was going on_? "You left him alone? I thought I asked you to keep an eye out for when he woke."

"There were three others when I came in but no water. I went to get some and came back to find no one else here. You know how thirsty they've all been when they first wake up." The indignant offence in Gwaine's voice was unmistakeable so Merlin swallowed down the irritated aside he might normally have aired due to their talking over him as if he were not even there. Truth was he was exhausted already and he hadn't been awake for very long. Whatever had hit him had certainly taken its toll. Arthur merely sighed rather than acknowledge Gwaine's attitude and asked in a tight voice, "Could you go fetch one of the healers? I'm sure Merlin will need checking over and a hot meal."

"Your kicking me out?" Although milder than before there was still an edge of danger to Gwaine's tone which obviously didn't sit well with Arthur since his face finally took on all the arrogant hauteur he could bring to bear, and which Merlin had been expecting since this conversation started, before surprisingly deflating just as quickly once again into something sad.

"Do you really think so little of me and my promises? I just want to talk, you know we need to talk."

"Nah princess. Don't get your britches in a twist, I admit you've kept your word so far." Was it Merlin's imagination or had there been a definite emphasis placed on the _ **'so far'**_. "I just think another friend would be good right now. It's a lot to take in." And yet despite the reassurance Arthur looked even more despondent as if Gwaine had kicked him whilst he was down.

Really hating the tension now apparent in spades between two of his closest friends he did his best to dispel it with what he believed to be a simple enough question. "Um... Where's Gaius?" Merlin looked around half expecting the physician to pop out from behind one of the pillars at any moment, but by the sudden shift between the two men Merlin could tell right away something was wrong and his throwaway attempt to break up the possibly brewing argument became a suddenly much more urgent enquiry. His earlier thoughts came to haunt him. If Gaius had been able he **would** have been here already. "Arthur, where's Gaius?" _Was that really his own voice sounding so small and afraid?_ It was true Gaius was a tough old coot and the magic still flowing through his veins made him stronger than a man of his age should be but he was still only a couple of summers shy of seventy and magic hadn't seemed to grant himself any of his usual resistance to this malady since he was laid here. He could only imagine how bad it had knocked his mentor's own equillibrium if he were suffering the same condition since he felt as if he had been in a battle.

"He's recovering, getting something to eat out by the fire and being fussed over. You were the last one to wake up." Merlin let out the huff of breath he seemed to have been holding without conscious thought. The relief was rather overwhelming.

"He will be fine though right?" Arthur gave his own huff, this time of exasperation.

"Always with the worrying for someone else." Gwaine shook his head ruefully at Arthur's irritated rejoinder, he could well understand and sympathise with this aspect of the monarch's attitude. "Yes he's fine, a little weak but nothing a few good meals and lots of rest won't fix. It's you we've been worrying over."

"You were worried about me?" There was the slowly emerging smirk and the sly looks toward himself Arthur had missed including the small spark of pleasure Merlin always gained in his eyes when someone let slip they cared. As if Merlin couldn't quite believe they would admit that aloud. They all knew the admission was now squirreled away to use some unspecified time later when they least expected it and had all but forgotten the incident.

"Of course not." Arthur scoffed rolling his eyes. "My armour is getting rusty, my chamber floor needs scrubbing and I'm running out of tunics."

"Camelot suddenly ran out of servants as well as the beds now?"

"In a manner of speaking." Merlin startled at the suddenly serious tone and took another drink to ease the ache within his throat, waiting for the rest of the sentence which never came.

"And I'm supposed to guess what that exceedingly cryptic statement is supposed to mean?" He asked incredulously. But whatever banter had been going had dried up. And now Gwaine, who had seemed to relax whilst they sallied back and forth tensed yet again. It was all exceedingly strange and made Merlin feel on edge as well as shaky from his apparent illness of which details he still hadn't been informed.

Gwaine's finger poked his king in the shoulder with a suddenness which made Merlin flinch. The knights words coming out with sneering exasperation. "You're supposed to be Courage you know, they've been calling you that all day, so why don't you start showing some and just tell him already." The title Courage falling so carelessly from Gwaine's lips and the look of such intensity directed at Arthur had his defences immediately on the rise. Arthur looked less than pleased when he turned to his knight.

"There is such a thing as tact, and easing him into it."

"Yeah. And then there's this thing called pussyfooting around the bloody issue." Gwaine bit the words out in such a clipped tone, sounding on the furthest edge of irritation. Merlin could imagine if he'd had a weapon his hand would have been gripping the hilt rather tightly. "You've forbidden me from saying anything, which by the way I'm still not pleased about, but I swear if you don't get it over with so we can all go eat..." Gwaine's stomach took this opportune moment to grumble, loudly.

Merlin almost laughed such was the timing, but he was by now thoroughly fed up of both the posturing and this new habit of talking about him rather than to him since it was doing nothing for his bewilderment or his illness. He waved his hand between them, not even caring that it would irritate Arthur no end. He was fairly irritated himself. "Down here, hello. I have no idea what you're on about and no wish to be in the middle of it since I really feel awful, so why don't you just either tell me whatever is going on or go away and bash your ego's together somewhere else? Please!" Both men left of the truly aggravated gaze directed at each other and instead two pairs of eyes attentively fixed upon the warlock. Identical looks of smouldering magnitude now focussed solely upon him, having come to some silent agreement between them.

"Riiiggghhht...and that doesn't make me feel intimidated at all."

Gwaine's sudden look toward Arthur with something akin to disbelief and then the full on laughter which left him gasping and bent over clutching his knees did nothing for Merlin's sense of equilibrium since Gwaine doubled up and laughing almost hysterically when he had looked and sounded, ready to all but rip Arthur's hair out in a childish tantrum just moments earlier wasn't odd at all!

"Are you sure this is just water?" He stated, eyeing the water skin and cup warily and sniffing them with a feeling of deep distrust in case they held something far more intoxicating and likely to produce hallucinations.

"Are you quite finished?" Arthur's tone left no room for interpretation and neither did his glare. He was fed up with the knight. "Yeah it's just the thought of Merlin being intimidated and all after...well..."Gwaine gasped out between titters which could almost be classed as girly.

"Right, Gwaine out!" Arthur bellowed pointing toward the flap. He was seriously regretting his choice to share what he knew of Merlin's title and magical strength with the rest of his close knights. And not for the first time asked himself why he trusted him so much when his discretion and intelligence were so questionable at times.

Arthur watched silently as he left throwing glances back as if he would argue some more but still giggling madly. He waited just long enough for the flap to fall closed once more before pulling out the stool at the side of the bed and flopping down on it. "So." Merlin started hesitantly. "Care to elaborate on what the hell all that was about."

"I'm not sure how I can say this in a way you won't panic like the girl you are."

"I'm pretty sure Gwen would be mortally insulted by that statement Arthur. Should we ask her when we get back from wherever this is you've brought us?"

"What makes you think we aren't camped out on the training fields in Camelot."

"I...Don't I guess but why else would we be in a tent? Plus Gwaine tends to be even more irritable than usual if he hasn't got access to the specially brewed mead they hold in reserve for him at the Rising Sun. So unless you've done something exceptionally stupid..." And here Merlin trailed off eyeing the king up and down obviously believing him entirely capable of doing so but not idiotic enough to say it out loud. "Then we aren't anywhere near the city any more." The extremely innocent and expectant look he turned on the king usually brought about either an answering round of banter or as much of a heart to heart as the king ever allowed himself. Either way it always elicited some kind of reaction, not to mention such an insult would never normally be passed up without some retaliation, not in such a way. It was normal, expected behaiviour he knew how to navigate with ease. Now though Arthur just looked a little too grim, and if Merlin had to describe his mood right now he could only go with a very puzzling type of pondering wholly unlike the young king he knew. Coupled with Gwaine's hysterics a few moments ago he now counted himself thoroughly lost.

"What is it Arthur?" Merlin said with decided impatience. He was weary, exhausted even and held no patience for this game he didn't know the rules to any more.

"You really **aren't** going to like what I'm about to say but there is just no easy way to say it." Arthur let out his own frantic sounding chuckle which sounded anything but amused. It made Merlin's skin crawl. "My father would be turning in his grave." That made him feel even worse, a shudder wracking through him as it always did at the mention of the late unlamented Uther. "I know Merlin." He stated with an intensity Merlin found extremely uncomfortable. _What did he know that would cause him to be so uncharacteristically serious?_

"I know who you are. I know at least some of what you've done for me, for the kingdom. I'm beginning to see the struggles you've faced and the wrongs we have done you."

Merlin shifted then, pulling away as horrible suspicions wormed their way through him at the way Arthur said he KNEW him _._ _What_ _the hell could he know_ _about him_ _?_ Since that hadn't been made at all clear. Arthur carried right on with his explanation not really noticing the beginnings of anxiety Merlin tried to keep well hidden just in case this wasn't what he thought it was. There was no need to panic yet, Merlin had always been able to pull the wool over Arthur's eyes with disturbing ease. It was always best to Let Arthur dig the hole to bury Merlin's secrets in by himself. Easier, even if it did make him cringe every time.

"Not just you either. Sixty three people Merlin all just getting on with their lives and hiding in plain sight. Three of my own, knights of Camelot, and no one even suspected. It's certainly made me rethink quite a lot of what we've all been taught." Merlin's attention had certainly been peaked now, though a lifetime of training in evasiveness was brilliant training for keeping anything of his rising turmoil from showing. This sounded far closer to the mark than anything else Arthur had ever suspected. He wasn't entirely sure how to comprehend the fact Arthur seemed to be saying exactly what he had feared. And yet he was not looking on him in disgust. He clung to the hope his muddled thinking was misreading the situation on his part and not that Arthur truly knew what he was. He could not overlook the knowledge that no matter what Arthur thought or felt, he was a King. The king of Camelot and still subject to his kingdoms will. The kingdom of Camelot had not been friendly to magic users for over twenty years.

"I'm not sure Camelot is entirely ready yet, but I hope you and everyone out there might be willing to help me regardless."

"Help you?" It was the only thing Merlin could think to say. His mind latching on to that comment and processing the fact Arthur was actually asking for help. He still wasn't sure yet what for but obviously if he still wanted to interact then his secrets were still safe.

He sighed slightly in sadness, as he always did every time an opportunity for his magic to be known passed him by; partly in vexation at still having no clue as to what was going on or where they were.

And that last must have been said aloud without Merlin's having registered it. Either that or Arthur had started a new sideline in mind reading, which given everything he was having to deal with now wouldn't in the least surprise him. "We had to bring you all out to the druid encampment on the border with Nemeth since their medical and magical knowledge were sorely needed."

"You went to the Druids?!" His voice came out strangled and that was hardly surprising considering Arthur had merely tolerated the Druids presence in Camelot after his confrontation with them at the site of the ruined camp. Theirs was an uneasy truce at best. To find he had willingly sought their aid, in magic no less, for what amounted to a handful of ill citizens, was a massive jump in his thinking. Just what had been going on whilst he was ill?

"They were the only ones who could help us? Especially with the nature of this affliction. We need their aid." He couldn't help but realise Arthur had said _'we need their aid'_ , present tense, as in still did. If he were the last to recover what could he still want help from a group of magic users for?

"What with Arthur...Please...I don't Know what you're trying to say." But deep down he really thought he might be garnering an inkling with everything he had said so far. So when the confirmation came the initial shock did not hit him as hard as he thought it would.

"This illness Merlin, It only affected those in the kingdom...who have magic."

"Ah." That one word was all Merlin could manage without sounding like a strangled cat. He suddenly found the crumpled bedding clutched under his fingers exceedingly interesting. He was only happy he'd managed to not look and sound as terrified as he felt.

Arthur meanwhile was scrutinising him thoroughly for his reaction. Contrary to what Arthur had expected, Merlin did not outwardly panic as completely as he had believed at the knowledge his secret was out. Or at least, his mostly to all appearances calm and slightly fidgety demeanour never changed if he was.

He didn't know if that was a good thing or if his words just hadn't registered and the nerves and terror would kick in only when the coin finally dropped. It could even be that Merlin was in fact having an entire emotional meltdown right there in front of his eyes and the blank gaze directed at him was just a mask, a front designed to tell all and sundry that there was nothing to see, when in fact his whole world had just crashed in a fiery ball. He couldn't know that was exactly what Merlin was going through.

All he saw were those unusually blue orbs looking slightly more wary, narrower and with a glint that somehow seemed so sad. It wasn't alarm exactly but he realised he had seen such a look before. Several times in the past when he'd thought there was something not quite right with his manservant he had held such an air about him, and yet he had always come bouncing straight back from whatever had been affecting him, carrying on as normal and Arthur had dismissed his worries over the man as just a figment of his over active imagination.

Now faced with this, he realised how wrong he had been and wished he could go back and undo the sarcastic, almost callous ways he had dealt with them all. But the past was the past and no amount of wishing would change them, he could only hope he had the words to reassure him now. He opened his mouth to do so and then stopped as Merlin spoke, hands still bunched in the bedding and from what he now saw, clutching on for dear life.

"I guess that's that then." The slightly tense and yet flat way Merlin said the words themselves spoke volumes as his face, still oddly calm, went from puzzled to accepting yet wary after a few moments. That sigh spoke of weariness, as if he had been carrying some great weight for so long he'd forgotten what it felt like to put it down. "So you know I have magic and we are all in some forest somewhere in Nemeth, in a Druid camp and we cannot go back to Camelot right now, Is that about the gist of it?"

"You're not banished Merlin if that is what you think."

"Forgive me for saying but that is exactly what it sounds like!" He shot out. "Why else do you still need their aid if as you say everyone is now recovering? At least we haven't been summarily put to death, perhaps we should be grateful." And there was the merest hint of bitterness just detectable underlying the words which made Arthur's hackles rise slightly at yet another person in the camp taking their first impression and running with it without benefit of explanation. The word _'Grateful'_ almost spat at him. Just how many people would he have to justify himself to? But he quashed it, before it could fully take hold. These people had every reason to be suspicious of both his motives and his promises, how many just like them had he killed after all? And also just on a first impression he or his father ran with.

Merlin's self-control failed completely then, allowing the anxiety free reign. His carefully constructed facade crumbling visibly before the king who swore softly under his breath and called Merlin an idiot just like always. He'd been the one to butcher the explanations now, maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to send Gwaine out after all. He was coming to realise he was singularly bad at comforting people. The slight chuckle he gave at realising he would need to start again from the very beginning was entirely inappropriate and made Merlin's entire demeanour fall even further south. It just made him laugh even harder not able to stop.

For Merlin it was no laughing matter. Could Arthur not see his words had just come crashing through, lighting his existence up in flames and leaving a gaping hole in the shield his secrecy had provided? He had come to terms long ago with the fact he would never be able to tell Arthur who he was because his anonymity afforded protection not only for himself but everyone in the kingdom. Now to wake into a world where the king knew his most closely guarded secret and apparently Gwaine too since he couldn't dismiss his reactions as anything else, along with how many others? Just how was he to keep people safe now? The full implications finally broke through the barrier of numbing shock he had erected all unknowing. His mind whirring through every scenario he had ever devised over the years of how people might react. The best was Arthur's council resigning adding more stress to the young monarch and other kingdoms seeing them as weak because of it. The worst could be civil war. This was exactly what he had wanted to avoid.

It had been so clear to the warlock. Arthur had to be protected, Merlin was the only one fully equipped to do so for magical threats. Magic however had become so completely synonymous with evil for Camelots citizens, he would become the catalyst of mobs, riots, at the very least a spectacle of entertainment for the malicious masses to try to gain advantage. Therefore Arthur could never know who he was. His secret was a castle made of paper, thin and delicately balanced. Yet he had managed to hide within it for years under everyone's noses. Now however his castle had been blown away in a stiff wind exposing all that he was to the dissenters, manipulators and unscrupulous. Arthur would be beset on all sides from this. His breathing had sped up again without him noticing until he felt so light headed.

Arthur's hands came out of nowhere his hysterics slowly diminishing as Merlin's distress rose. Landing on Merlin's shoulders with uncharacteristic gentle pressure. Laughter still dancing in his irises but at least he had stopped chuckling aloud. His mouth merely stretching into a rueful and slightly guilty smile.

"If it helps," He stated softly, "everyone else has been through the exact same thing. I know, it's a shock. Just breath, nice and deep, that's it. Trust me, you'll feel better in a moment." Arthur's low, even voice penetrated the spiralling fog his mind had fallen into. And yes, surprisingly after a while he actually did.

"Since when...did you...become...the physician?" Merlin's smile was a mere shadow of his former grin. Arthur couldn't have thought through the bigger picture yet, or he wouldn't be so optimistic or so gleeful. Still he was trying and it did settle him somewhat.

"Since my idiot of a manservant decided to collapse so spectacularly in front of the entire council. But, you have my word, for what it is worth to you. We will all go home together." There was a long pause filled with the visible signs of a warlock trying to keep calm before Merlin his voice softened significantly spoke against the king's chest. "I can imagine it came as quite a surprise."

Merlin ignored the hope generated by his king's words though they meant a great deal. It didn't seem as if he had lost Arthur's friendship yet, though how long that would last if he was made aware of everything was yet to be determined. He continued to look down at the ground between them both and then away toward the tent flap, now open to admit the last light of evening and his voice turned soft and wistful no longer quite so broken thinking back to the hopes he had held for the first few years of his residency within Camelot. "I'd thought if you ever found out at all it would have been me who told you."

"You weren't going to tell me." Not a question and that spoke volumes about how much Arthur's observational skills had undergone a rapid reassessment. Arthur could now detect so much longing within his servant and the denial he knew he'd figured out. It seemed with these revelations he was becoming slightly more attuned to the emotions usually kept hidden from him.

"I didn't know how to or even if I should. You and the kingdom just seemed to become less tolerant every year and when your father died it became an impossible hope to have you know all of me."

"Yes well you're ill right now so you are obviously having trouble realising what is in front of you. Wait until we get home. I have a nice list of all the best chores for you to do. The moat hasn't been dredged in a while, I'm rather curious as to how long it would take you, without cheating!"

Arthur gave him a look of such fond exasperation as he said it, as if everything were normal, just another day of Arthur and Merlin, the king and his servant. But for Merlin all he could think was how long the peace between them would last. And though it was a nice dream, returning to Camelot was an impossibility until magic was accepted by everyone.

They both ignored the tears making their slow tracks down the warlocks face.


End file.
